The Changeling
by Elsie Dewey
Summary: Set between A New Hope and The Empire Strikes Back, the story considers what would happen if Threepio (C3PO) had been confiscated by the Empire during a raid on a Rebel base. This introspective story uses that unexpected perspective to reflect on the nature of truth, life, and legacy.
1. Chapter 1

I. By the Span of a hand

_Even people who have read books on etiquette are sometimes a pain in the neck.  
>Carl Sandburg<em>1

Threepio lay face down on the floor, too astonished to move. He knew Captain Solo disliked him, but enough to try to blast him?

The din of the klaxons and the flashing emergency lights disoriented him. He tried to sit up, but the missing pins in his knee joints prevented him from raising himself. Finally, he gave up. He lay on the floor of the maintenance bay, and tried to sort out the events of the past few minutes.

The last thing Captain Solo had said was, "Sorry, Goldenrod," and then he shot at him. Happily, he must have been distracted, because the bolt had missed him; though only by the span of a hand. Threepio felt certain that sudden intense burst of heat had scorched his casing. "And how much buffing will it take to get _that_ out!" he thought. The middle of an evacuation drill was an odd time to behave so spitefully!

And why should he be spiteful at all? "After all, he _had_ made those remarks about Princess Leia in a public setting. And was it _my_ fault she asked about the affair? All I did was repeat what I had heard." He shook his head. The Princess could be a bit of a caution when she was displeased. He had just been glad _he_ wasn't the one with whom she was angry.

After the fracas, Captain Solo hadn't said much. He had just glared at him, and finally said quietly, "Some day, Goldenrod, that big mouth is going to get you into trouble." Threepio wondered if perhaps he should have been expecting some sort of reprisal.

It came, about a month later, and about four hours ago. At least, he concluded, that was what it must have been. The entire base at Kong had been preparing for the evacuation drill. When the transportation assignments were made, Threepio was dismayed to see he had been assigned to the _Millennium Falcon_. Captain Solo had been avoiding him – and, admittedly, he had been avoiding Captain Solo – but the ship _was_ the only one on site that he could board unaided. Well, there was no help for it. After all, it was only a system test. No lift-offs would be involved.

After the drill came the assessments. The evacuation had not gone as smoothly as had been hoped. To Threepio, the changes that needed to be made had been plain enough, but, typically, the officers who had developed the plan were in no mood for any advice. In frustration, he had gone so far as to turn to Captain Solo, and had attempted to point out some changes that would simplify his responsibilities. Instead of being grateful, Captain Solo had turned toward him with some hostility, and had appeared about to make an aggressive gesture. Threepio retreated a step, and…

He really should have been more careful when standing so close to the loading port. He missed the ramp, and landed, feet first, on the hangar floor. When the uproar subsided, he found he couldn't walk. The impact had so bent the intermotor activating couplers in his knee joints that they were unable to flex. After several fruitless attempts at movement, Chewbacca finally volunteered to carry him to the maintenance bay; a humiliating operation Threepio would certainly not care to repeat. He decided he would have to speak to the Wookiee about the careless way he had dumped him on the work table. After great effort, lubrication, and pounding, however, the technician had managed to remove the couplers. He had just turned away to check the parts on hand for replacements, when the lights began to flash, alarms sounded, and another evacuation drill began. The technician had grabbed his repair manual reader, and fled the room, Threepio recalled indignantly, leaving him lying there virtually helpless.  
>He had waited a few minutes, expecting someone to return and finish the repair, but no help appeared. He decided to sit up, and was in the process of swinging himself around, when Captain Solo ran into the room. Threepio was about to speak to him, when the man looked desperately around the room, unholstered his blaster, and said, "Sorry, Goldenrod." By that time, Threepio had begun to slide off the table, and, as he fired, had slid off completely, into a heap on the floor. He heard the man's running footsteps echo down the corridor, until they wee lost among the blaring alarms.<p>

The emergency lights were beginning to dim, and the klaxons grew silent. The stillness was oppressive, unnatural. The base was never this quiet, especially during the various security drills. Officers would be calling orders to their squads, equipment would grind against the floor as it was moved onto and off of the transports, followed by much nervous laughter at the mistakes that were made. Threepio detected no sound of movement or activity, as there should have been if the alarm had been a drill.

_If it had been a drill!_

The possibility was unthinkable, but the conclusion was obvious. This time, a genuine evacuation had taken place! No one would be coming back. Threepio struggled again to right himself. "No! This couldn't happen! They couldn't leave _me_ behind!' he thought wildly. "I've got to get out of here! Or hide!" Surely a scouting party would return, after the storm troopers had left, to assess extent of the damage. If only he could keep out of sight until then. He tried to pull himself along the ground, but was unable to find sufficient traction. He lay still, and tried to formulate a plan. But none would take shape.

The floor began to vibrate slightly, then with greater intensity. Spaceships were landing in the docking bay. For a moment, Threepio hoped they belonged to returning Alliance transports, but the unfamiliar pitch of the engines dismissed that possibility. He struggled to raise his head, and scanned the bay for a likely spot for concealment. He could already hear the clatter of armored boots on boarding ramps.

Oh dear! He lay very still, and cut power to his photosensors. If it were a reconnaissance party, maybe they wouldn't pay any mind to an evidently deactivated droid sprawled on the floor. As an afterthought, he positioned his arms carelessly above his head, in an attempt to look as discarded as possible. Faint voices muttered at the end of the corridor.

"… I don't know how we're going to load it all," he heard one of the troopers remark.  
>"Maybe they'll send some more landers."<p>

"Can't spare the fuel. The captain will be spitting nails if we don't come back with a full load, and only what's on the seizure list. What's over that way?"

"Looks like a maintenance bay. Were there any tools on the list?"

"I'll check."

So it wasn't a reconnaissance squad. It was a raiding party! Threepio tried to concentrate on remaining motionless, hoping against hope that "droid" was not one of the items the soldiers planned to scavenge.

"No, mostly office supplies, fabric, and MREs."

"Maybe we'll get some decent chow for a change. Say, what's that? Over there on the floor."

Threepio nearly flinched. He could feel the two troopers leaning over him.

"Naw, it's not on the list. Besides, it doesn't look like it works."

"All right." Threepio could hear their steps turning toward the entry, and risked a peek. Two pair of white boots gleamed in the dim room. They paused for a moment.

"Aren't some of the drones falling apart?"

"Huh? Oh! Yeah, yeah, I guess they are. Maybe we should take it along for parts?"

"That's just what _I_ was thinking. You take one arm, I'll take the other."

_Oh, no!_ He hung as loosely as possible as the soldiers dragged him across the floor. _And it certainly isn't doing my casing any good, either!_ He had hoped his dead weight might motivate them to simply drop him as a waste of energy, but the men were determined. Even when he tried to maneuver his unresponsive feet to catch on uneven spots along the base of the wall, they merely jerked him free, leaving Threepio to rue the resulting dent. The corridor opened into the base's hangar. The two dropped the inert droid in a heap near a pile of crates.

"What's that?" A man inquired harshly. Threepio didn't dare look, but the thin-soled tap of his boots identified him as an officer. "That's not on the list! Why don't you guys…"

"We thought it might be useful on the ship, sir. For _parts_, maybe?

"Parts!" The officer exclaimed. "We don't need any … Oh, yes. _Parts_! Good thinking, men. Go see if you can find any other _parts_, and report back on the double when I signal."

"Yes, sir."

Threepio listened to this exchange with dismay. There was no chance of his creeping away without attracting attention. He could hear the officer pacing nearby, and other scavenging parties reporting their loot. Worse, he could sense their curiosity about his presence with the other confiscated items. _How will I ever get out of this mess_! He considered the dismal prospect of being cannibalized to maintain, of all things, a collection of drones: robots devoid of independent thought or action, who all shared the same elemental programming, broadcast from a central computer. A degrading end, at which any droid would shudder.

But he didn't dare shudder. He lay still and listened for anything that might offer the remotest opportunity for escape.

A warbling alarm sounded. He started, then hoped no one had noticed. The tarmac vibrated slightly at the footfalls of the returning troopers. The officer in charge began to call out loading directions for their plunder. Threepio groaned inwardly, as the bins and bundles that had surrounded him were placed on the shuttles. Finally, armored gloves grabbed his arms, and carelessly dragged him up the ramp.

"Where do you want this?" One of them inquired Threepio heard some papers rustle, as if held by a clipboard, and an man's unmuffled voice replied, "See if you can fit it under some of the seats. Just make sure it doesn't get stuck, or that nobody trips over it'

"Yes, sir." A moment later, Threepio felt himself dropped abruptly and shoved beneath what felt like a bench. He heard the two troopers wander forward, muttering about getting belted in for takeoff. He decided to risk another peek at his surroundings. Judging from the distance he had been hauled into the ship, he thought it might be possible to creep out again unobserved, The seats hid him as he raised himself on his elbows and looked for an escape.

The hatch remained temptingly open. Several troopers appeared to be inspecting the hangar, but Threepio realized they were laying explosive charges. _The Alliance will never return to _this_ base_. He dropped to the floor as the soldiers jumped aboard. They brushed past the droid as the hatch began to close. He gazed at the familiar scene of the hangar as it disappeared. Suddenly, memories of those who had so recently occupied the base swept over him. Master Luke. Princess Leia. Captain Solo. Chewbacca. And Artoo.

He turned his face away. "Merciful power!" he thought. "Will I ever see them again!"

* * *

><p><em>"You killed Threepio?!" Luke exclaimed. He stared at Han in blank disbelief. Leia turned pale, then began to flush with anger. Chewbacca remained in the background, looking uncomfortable.<em>

_"I didn't kill him; I shot him. I had to." Han himself looked pale, but the accusing pair failed to notice._

_"You MURDERED THREEPIO!" Luke snarled, as Leia screeched, "What do you mean you HAD to!"_

_"I couldn't move him alone, and there wasn't time to get help. There wasn't anything else to do…"_

_Leia stood, clenching and unclenching her fists. "Chewbacca could have carried him! What was…_

_"Chewbacca was powering up the ship. There wasn't time to get him. We nearly crashed into that cruiser as it was._

_Luke lunged at him. "You've always hated him! This was just an excuse…" Han caught the younger man, and wrestled him against the wall._

_"Luke, listen to me. If you want to hit me afterward, go ahead; but listen first." Luke glowered at him, but stopped struggling. "I didn't hate him, and I'm truly sorry I had to do it. But I did have to do it. He knew too much for the Empire to get their hands on him."_

_"He would never have betrayed the Alliance!"_

_"Not on purpose. But think about it. Picture Threepio getting worked over by an Imperial goon squad. If they didn't just tear him apart for fun, what do you think would happen? Would you want that to happen? Or how about an Imperial interrogator? Do you think he would recognize their tricks in time?" Luke face slowly grew thoughtful. "He may have been a guileless big mouth, but he wasn't stupid. It wouldn't take him long to figure out what he had done. How would he feel once he realized it? How do you think he'd feel? What do you think they'd do to him then/" Han relaxed his grip. "Would you want to put him through that?"_

_Leia looked solemn. "All they would have to do is deactivate him and analyze his ROM. There's enough there to destroy the Alliance.' Her head bowed, and she bit her lip._

_Luke sagged in Han's grasp. He looked sadly toward the doorway as a blue-banded astromech droid rolled into the chamber, chirping in cheerful ignorance. As he looked around the room, his whistles fell silent._

_"They were all that was left of the only family I've ever known." Luke said softly._

_"And of a home I'll never see again." Leia wiped her eyes. "Poor Threepio."_

_A signal bell rang. The three looked at each other, and the younger pair walked toward the small droid. "Come on, Artoo. We've something to tell you."_

_Han hung back, staring at the floor. Chewbacca stepped beside him, and quietly growled a question. Han answered him._

_"Yeah. He was in the repair bay. I hit him all right."_

_Chewbacca hesitated, then growled again._

_"I shot and he dropped like a rock! Of course I'm sure…"_

_But to himself, he added, "…I hope!"_

* * *

><p>Notes:<p>

1Sandburg, Carl. _The People, Yes_ (various publishers: 1936).


	2. Chapter 2

II – Captive of the Empire

"What diction!"  
>"Very elocutionary"<br>"And he does not spit when he talks."  
>"If I had to do something to him I'd cry like a baby."1<br>(Cole Porter: Kiss Me Kate (1948)

* * *

><p>If Threepio had been less fearful, he would have been indignant at his careless treatment. What felt like a couple of troopers had pulled him out of the landing craft, and proceeded to drag him down a half-lighted corridor. Happily, the soldiers had faced him backwards, so he had risked a couple of peeks at his surroundings. The austere gloominess was not encouraging. Finally, the pair stopped. Threepio heard a panel in the wall slide open, and the pair brought him into the chamber. A few steps, and he was dropped, his face to the ceiling. He thought he heard a light switch deactivate as they left the room. The door slid closed behind them.<p>

"Now what!" he thought. Well, at least they hadn't left him on a dismantling rack. As for the others at Kong, thank the Maker, they had escaped safely. He had overheard no talk of other captives, or of any space battles. Maybe a way out would yet present itself. In the silence of the chamber, he could hear occasional footsteps in the hallway, and the distant rumble of the ship's reactors. Judging from the sound, the cruiser was now under weigh.

This will be difficult.

Something seemed odd about the room where he had been left. It felt small for a maintenance bay. He could detect no familiar aroma of lubricants and solder, either. Where could they have left him? A storage compartment, perhaps? He doubted he would be able to perceive much in the darkness, but decided to take a look. He raised himself to his elbows and…

_Oh, my!_

The room was not a storage compartment, and it was not dark. To his horror, Threepio realized the sound he had heard was the lights being switched _on_. He fell back to the floor as several armored figures stepped away from the wall, and towered over him.

One said, "I told you it was functional."

Another bent over him. "Where are they, droid?"

Threepio stared at him stupidly, unable to speak.

"Where are they, droid?" the figure repeated, this time adding a kick.  
>The poor droid finally managed to falter, "I don't know." The troopers looked at each other, in obvious disbelief. "Really, I don't!"<p>

"Don't give me that. Where did they go?"

"I don't know!"

A second trooper looked down at him. "I was hoping we could do this the easy way…'

"Oh, no! Please! I really don't know where they went! I was in the repair bay when the alarm sounded, and never learned the rendezvous point! Really, if I could…" Threepio stopped abruptly.

"What was that?'

"Nothing." _Merciful power! Would I really have said what I very nearly did?_

"This kind of questioning isn't getting us anywhere," observed another soldier. "What do you say we try some powerful persuasion?" The others muttered approvingly. One produced an evil-looking device, from which various probes and clamps swung. He plugged it into some sort of outlet in the wall, as the other two each grabbed one of the droid's arms.

Threepio made a futile attempt to slip from their grasp. "Gentlemen, please; I have no information that would be of any use to you. My position was little better than that of a mascot! Really, I . . oh, please not that!" His voice grew more shrill as he was pushed toward the enterprising trooper, who now held a clamp in one hand. His other hand toyed with a probe.

"Hold him up a little higher. Once he's clamped, stand back." Threepio groaned audibly, and tried to break free. "Once he's stunned, we can really work him ov…"

"PUT THAT DOWN!" A voice thundered with such force that Threepio could feel the vibrations on his casing. The sound was so startling that the troopers dropped him in surprise. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

"We were interrogating the droid . ."

The speaker stepped closer. "Not with that thing." Threepio could now see the speaker. An enormous woman in an officer's uniform was scowling at his tormentors. She went on. "You'd only manage to fry out his memory, and then blow out this electrical circuit when his power cell backwashes. If you had been paying attention in the training session, you'd remember that. I'm disappointed in you." She bent over the droid, and said, in a gentler voice, "Can you read Hykogi text?"

"Ye-yes, ma'am,' Threepio managed to stammer.

"Great! Have I got plans for you!" The woman rose to her feet.

"I have Major Rora's authority to requisition this unit for library service. Help him up, please," she ordered crisply. The soldiers looked at each other, and the two nearest the droid pulled him to his feet. "Come this way, please."

"I beg your pardon, er, Lieutenant," Threepio interjected, quickly counting the stripes on the woman's cuff. "But at the moment, I can't walk." The officer turned, and gazed at him inquiringly. "The intermotor activating couplers for the knee joints have been removed."

The woman looked at his legs. "The what? Oh, the pins! I'm sorry, I should have noticed.' She shot a glare at the troopers. One explained, "Don't look at us. He came that way.'

"Take him to the maintenance bay," she directed. "And if I don't come for you," she added to Threepio, "Al can give you directions to the library. See you soon."

"Thank you, ma'am." As the armored men dragged him from the room, Threepio overheard the remaining trooper mutter something about legs, to which the woman answered, "Well, what did you think I was going to do? Whistle?' The soldier's response was too muffled to make out, but the lieutenant's comment was plain enough: "Next time, leave it to the professionals …" A hatch in the passageway closed, cutting off his eavesdropping.

That lieutenant did have a piercing voice. And what did whistling have to do with the present circumstances. Threepio was still trying to decide whether this apparent reprieve should inspire relief or dread, as his bearers dragged him along. Several other soldiers, uniformed personnel, and what appeared to be humanoid drones glanced curiously at them. Presently, the group rounded a corner, where a placard identified the area as "Maintenance Bay." A technician in a lubricant-smeared coverall was soldering something in a small personal-assistant unit. Without looking up, he pointed toward an empty worktable. Threepio was deposited on it with more gentleness than he had experienced so far.

That still wasn't saying much.

The repair was simple enough. The missing couplers were of a standard size, and, in spite of all the dragging about he had endured, his joints had not become misaligned. The technician – evidently, the Al the lieutenant had mentioned – was a stocky man whose skeptical smile did not concealed his kind expression. He had dug about in the bin of odd parts maintenance bays invariably seem to have, and almost before Threepio knew it, had screwed the missing couplers into place. Remarkably, he had been able to line up the threading on the first try. Plainly, a skillful technician, with obvious experience. Threepio had complimented him on his ability, but the man seemed uncomfortable conversing with a mechanical. His attitude surprised the droid, but it also served to remind him of where he was.

He would have to be cautious.

The corridor was empty when he stepped out of the maintenance bay. The lieutenant had not yet arrived. Al instructed him to follow the hallway as far as it would go, to turn left, pass two intersections, turn left at the third, and he would find the library. Threepio carefully thanked him and set out on his journey.

Considering his position, extra courtesy would not be out of place. As he made his way, he tried to observe his surroundings. The corridors of one cruiser, however, looked the same as they did on every other one, so he found his thoughts drifting to what the lieutenant might want with him. So far, his treatment had not been as dreadful as he had expected. But what of the future?

Several troopers were loitering by an entryway. Judging from the markings on their armor, they were not the same ones who had attempted to interrogate him, but, nonetheless, he gave them a wide clearance as he passed. One nudged his companions, and they appeared to share in some joke that Threepio suspected was at his expense. He pretended not to notice. But what could they have found so funny? What did they know that he ought to know?

One thing they knew, he reasoned, was that lieutenant. What was she like? Might their amusement have anything to do with her? Or what she had in mind for him? " What _did_ she have in mind? The possibilities multiplied as he walked. What was that she had said about whistling? And what was that about plans? "'Have I got plans for you!'" He reached the end of the corridor and turned to the left.

The enthusiasm with which she had said it seemed out of place. What could she have meant by that? He passed the first hallway. And she was so big. The troopers had seemed a little afraid of her. What could she…Oh my! Threepio stopped abruptly.

She couldn't possibly be expecting…! Threepio noticed his reflection in one of the polished door panels lining the passage. Maybe it was vain of him to think so, but his casing and overall comportment was far from unpleasant. A lonely human, and a long cruise … Every mechanical that had served in the intersystem labor pool had heard whispered stories of liberties taken with a droid.

_Is that why those troopers laughed? Oh, my! Whatever am I getting into?_ He looked around the hallway, but no alternative presented itself. He continued to walk, though slower now.

Maybe that isn't her plan after all. After all, she had asked something about being able to read some type of text. But why should that ability excite her so? And why did those troopers laugh? He turned down the third hallway.

The corridor was gloomy, but a light from a room at its center illuminated the path. With mounting dread, the droid peeked around the threshold into the room.

It did appear to be a library, albeit a cramped one. Tall, closely-spaced shelves, displaying a motley collection of bound volumes, lined the walls of the narrow room from floor to ceiling. What appeared to be document storage boxes lay on their sides on the topmost shelves, out of easy reach A moveable stepladder was attached to a track that ran around the room. Several small tables, and upholstered chairs that had seen better days, had been placed in the open space near the entry. They were empty, except for a figure bent over a workstation. As Threepio stepped in, the figure straightened, and turned to look at him.

"Hello! That was fast work." It was the enormous lieutenant. "Come on in." She looked around the room. "Let's see; where would be a good place to get started." Her gaze settled on a large table near the workstation. "This one ought to be big enough.'

_Oh, dear!_ Threepio shrank in dismay from what was beginning to sound like a fate worse than death. The woman did not notice.

"Say, could you close the door? We don't want to be disturbed. The switch is over there on your right– I mean left." The woman pointed to a panel by the threshold. He glanced wildly around the room, but could spot no escape. He pressed the panel, and the door hissed into place.

"Madam, if I may ask…" but she cut him off. "I don't know why I bothered with the door. Nobody seems to come here unless I coax them." She took off her hat. "People just aren't as curious as they used to be. Well, this'll be fun."

_Oh, no!_ She removed her tunic, and laid it over a chair. Beneath it was a long-sleeved blouse. Its lace trim left no doubt in Threepio's mind what her intentions were. _Maybe I was better off with the troopers!_ He began to back toward the door as she unbuttoned her collar and cuffs.

"Madam, I'm not…" She continued to roll up her sleeves.

"Come on over here." The droid had no alternative but to obey. He stood before her as she kicked off her shoes. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting to do this…"

"Madam, please," Threepio finally exclaimed. "I'm neither designed nor equipped for this kind of entertainment!" The woman had been looking at the ladder. She turned around and stared at him, puzzled. At that moment, he realized that he was looking down at her. The lieutenant was not large at all, but of an average height with a comfortable figure.

"Entertainment?" She frowned thoughtfully at the floor. Suddenly, she gasped, and her hand flew to her mouth. She looked at Threepio with indignant amazement.

And she blushed.

Then she began to smile. And chuckle. And then she began to laugh. A great, rolling flood of mirth, that washed through the room like a waterfall. She leaned against a chair to keep from falling, finally collapsing into it.

"So ho, pretty one, in my power at last, eh? 2"Just as the laughter began to ebb, she would look at Threepio and start all over again. "Have some Madeira, m'dear!3 But fear not, comely wrench –" she managed to gasp, "– I shall not harm thee!" Another fit of laughter overcame her. Finally she regained her composure; though it appeared to Threepio that she was merely too winded to go on. Instead of being unnerved by the outburst, he was encouraged enough to ask:

"So you weren't planning to …"

"No!" She stated emphatically. "Certainly not'" She grimaced pleasantly at him. "I'm not sure whether I should be insulted or flattered! Well, I think I'll be flattered, for now." She laughed again. "I got you down here to translate half a year's worth of standards and directives." She pointed at several stack of binders on an upper shelf. "For some reason, we keep getting them in Hycrondrian, and some part of 'We can't read these' isn't clear to the Ministry of Justice."

"I see. But why did you take off your uniform blouse?"

"The binders are dusty. It always amazes me how much dust can collect in a sealed environment. This blouse," she added, pulling the lace around its yoke, "is easier to clean than that one.'

"The buttons?"

"Freedom of movement."

"Oh." A lingering doubt crossed his mind. "But what about the shoes?'

She picked one up and pointed it at him. It was a thin-soled, patent-leather affair, with a low, narrow heel. "Have you ever tried to climb a steel mesh ladder in pumps?'

The conscious absurdity of the question was strangely reassuring. "I can honestly say I have not."

"The last time I tried it, my heel got caught and I nearly broke my neck." She dropped it on the floor again. "I'd just as soon keep it whole for the time being." She smiled wryly at him. "And that's the story, such as it is."

"You have no idea what a relief that story is."

"I'm delighted to have disappointed you. But now," she said as she scampered up the ladder, and pulled loose a large binder, "Let's see if you'll disappoint _me_." She picked her way backwards down the ladder, and laid the book on the table before him. "Let's see what you can do with these directives." She brushed past him, and sat down at the workstation keyboard. "You read, and I'll type. And do sit down, if you'd prefer," she added , as he bent over the volumes.

"I – er – thank you, Lieutenant." As he seated himself at the table, it occurred to the droid that his actions might be construed as helping the enemy. Somehow, though, an act of overt defiance seemed likely to lead to more disagreeable consequences than cautious compliance would. "Besides," he though, "Maybe I could do a little sabotage during the translation process."

But he was wrong. The directives were inconsequential changes to records maintenance standards; details unlikely to do any harm to the Empire. At one point, when he did try bending the meaning of one of the kanji, the woman's head popped up from behind the monitor.

"That doesn't sound right." She jumped up from her chair to see for herself. "Doesn't that one mean. ." she asked, pointing to the figure he had tried to mistranslate. He had to acknowledge his mistake. She smiled, and said, "I should have warned you: I don't _not_ read Hykogi text; I just don't do it well enough to be sure I've understood it right." She nodded toward the workstation. "I've been checking your translation against mine."

"How are you doing?" The question slipped out before he could stop it.  
>She looked pleased. "A lot better than I expected. Thank you for asking."<p>

She had a an agreeable, open face.

She also had an enthusiastic, accommodating manner: not at all what he would have expected from an Imperial officer. When she realized his hands were not suited for turning pages, she came over and turned them for him. She asked regularly if he needed a break. She eventually found an eraser he could hang onto, that allowed him to assume the page-turning duties for himself.

It was hardly the sort of treatment he would ave expected at the hands of the Empire.

Finally, it seemed that she had had enough. She rubbed her eyes as she said, "What do you say we knock off for today/"

"As you wish, Lieutenant." But now what would become of him? Might he be turned over to those troopers again? He watched uneasily as the woman stretched her back.

"I have some students stopping by tomorrow morning, but after that, we should be able to pick up where we left off. Will that suit you?"

"Yes, ma'am. But," he said hesitantly, "What will you do with me in the interim?"  
>She looked surprised. "I hadn't thought of that. I can't very well send you down to the drone pool. Would you mind waiting here? The overhead lighting goes off at Lights Out, but the desk lamps should still work. If you like to read, there should be plenty of things here to entertain you," she laughed, motioning toward the shelves surrounding them. "Most of this is training guides and lesson plans, but the stuff worth reading is in that corner over there. They should be easy to find," she sniffed. " They're the dusty ones."<p>

"Yes, ma'am. And thank you."

By now, she had resumed her cover, tunic and shoes. "Well, good night . .uh…" She stopped abruptly.

"Why, this is terrible! We've gone this far and I haven't even asked who you are." She leaned against the workstation, eyeing him with interest. "Who are you?"

Threepio drew himself up proudly. "I am See-Threepio, human cyborg relations."

"Well!" She said, impressed. "You really are talented! I should have guessed. Those dreary old directives have never been so gracefully phrased." She crossed her arms and cocked her head. "What do they call you?"  
>For a moment,the droid was not sure how to respond to the question he had already answered. "See-Threepio!"<p>

She stared at him, clearly perplexed. He added, "Or sometimes just "Threepio.'"

She frowned, "That's not a name, that's a function! That's like calling a dog, "Bark.'" she said, making a face. She glared at him abstractedly. "Who are you when you can't do that any more?"

For a fleeting moment, Threepio wondered if the ship might not in fact, be some sort of mental institution.

Suddenly, she exclaimed, "Call him "Ferguson!'" and burst out laughing.

"I … I beg your pardon?" he asked in bewilderment.

"I'm sorry – I'm just getting giddy," she said, regaining her composure. "It was terribly rude of me. The situation reminded me of an incident in an ancient comedy." She explained, "Several fellows on a tour of their world didn't like the name of their guide."

"Oh, yes. They had hoped for a guide with a name that suggested adventure, but mistakenly hired a guide with an unacceptably prosaic one. "Ferguson' became his nickname, due to its practicality."  
>The woman leaned forward eagerly. "Yes! You're familiar with <em>Innocents Abroad<em>4_?_ You really are good!_"_

"As an interpreter, it's my business to be familiar with the artistic works that cultures consider worth remembering," he replied with airy modesty.

"Nevertheless. I'm impressed!" She smiled. "Everybody on the ship thinks I'm a nut, because they don't know what I'm talking about. This is going to be a rare pleasure!

."Thank you for saying so, Lieutenant."

"My, that sound funny. Nobody ever calls me that.' She smiled broadly. "I kind of like it, though.'

"Oh, well, then – is there another form of address would you prefer?

"Well, my name is Laurie Marton. . Come to think of it, though, 'Lieutenant Marton' does sound rather awkward. Why don't you call me 'Laurie'?"

"A droid isn't normally so familiar with persons in authority," Threepio said doubtfully.

"Then why don't you call me by my nickname."  
>"Why, that would be worse than using your given name. I <em>couldn't<em> do that!"

"I bet you could if you tried."

"But a droid simply doesn't…"

The woman cut him off. "My nickname is Miss Laurie."

Threepio was momentarily taken aback. "_Miss_ Laurie?"

"That's right." He looked at her uncertainly as she walked toward the door. "It makes me sound like a fussy old maid, doesn't it?" she said.

"Well, er . ."

"The worst part is, it fits.' She shrugged with wry indifference. "I _am_ a fussy old maid!"

The droid was certain of one thing: he had no idea what to make of this startling woman. "Does, er, this distress you?"

"Not especially," she shrugged again. "After all, I'd rather be 'Miss Laurie' than 'Miss Taken.'"

_Miss Taken? Mis…_ The sense of her words dawned on him.

"That was a joke, wasn't it?"

She nodded. "A very feeble one."  
>"Oh.' He paused, then asked, "Do you drop such bon mots often"<p>

"All the time."

"Oh dear," He sighed.

Miss Laurie's laughter overflowed into the hallway.

* * *

><p>"<em>The report says he doesn't know where the rebels went."<em>

"Maybe he doesn't," the woman shrugged.

The man in uniform chuckled and shook his head in disbelief. "Now wait a minute," she went on. "Suppose I were captured by the Rebellion, and they asked me about the ship's destinations." The man gave a derisive snort. "Exactly! He may have been to that base what I am to this ship."

"So you don't think he knows anything."

"I think he knows plenty, but I don't think he knows that what he does know might be important."

The man looked at the woman intently. "Do you think you can get him to talk?"

She toyed thoughtfully with her pen. "I don't know, but I'd like to try." Her superior officer leaned back in his chair. "But before you get too comfortable, remember that, if I can get him to talk, I want something big…."

* * *

><p>Notes<p>

_1Kiss Me Kate_

2W.S. Gilbert. _Ruddigore_, Act II

3Michael Flanders. "Madeira, m'dear" from _At the Drop of a Hat_.

4Mark Twain. _The Innocents Abroad_ (1869) ]


	3. Chapter 3

III – Prisoner of the Empire

He: "Do you know anything about etiquette?"  
>She: "Certainly not! I never et a cat in my life!"<br>_ It Pays to be Ignorant_

There goes a happy man. There goes a happy Nut!  
><em> Andy Taylor and Barney Fife<em>

* * *

><p>That first "lights out," Threepio spent in a corner, with his back to a bookcase, watching the door, expecting that, any moment, a band of troopers would burst through it to drag him away for another session with that – whatever-it-was. He hoped the darkness would hide him from their immediate notice. But then, someone did burst through the door.<p>

"Hello there!" Miss Laurie called, looking straight at him, while the room was still dark. "How did you get along last night? Then she flipped on the overhead lights.

"How did you know where I was/" the droid asked sheepishly.

"I saw your photosensors." He had completely forgotten about their glow. "You looked like a owl over there in the corner." She must have sensed his disappointment, because she added quickly, "If I hadn't known you were here, though, you would have scared the daylights out of me!"  
>And so the cycle began. During the first part of the workday, some young men, and several older ones, who, by their demeanor, he assumed to be veteran troopers, wandered in, looking for information of various kinds. Threepio stood quietly as the lieutenant bustled around the room, pulling volumes from the shelves, checking citations at her workstation, listening as they explained their projects. Afterward, out came the standards. As she typed, he read – and wondered. The spacecraft had seemed to be some sort of warship, yet neither the standards, nor the questions of the – well – students, were of a bellicose nature. None of it appeared to be of any interest, or any threat, to the Alliance. The directives sounded more like matters that would concern a government official tasked with keeping civil peace . It was most puzzling.<p>

He tried inquiring of the housekeeping unit that buzzed through the room one night, but it was merely a robot, with no capacity to give him any information. Later, he discovered he need not have been so subtle.

"Oh, well: It's no secret. This is the star cruiser Vigilant. It has been commandeered for the use of one of the mobile training units under the authority of the Ministry of Justice and the Bureau of Law Enforcement."

"You train police officers?"  
>"The training team does; MPs and civilian forces. I just help them." She leaned forward eagerly in her swivel chair, "This mobile training unit principle is intriguing. There are –" She broke off suddenly. "Would you like to hear about it?" Before he could answer, she resumed her speech, "There are so many colonial governments that don't have facilities for training new public safety officers, or for refreshing current ones, that the training team system sounded like a good idea. We take the training to them."<p>

The lieutenant seemed willing to answer questions. Almost more than willing. Threepio decided to avoid making any but the most necessary inquiries. By paying attention – unobtrusively, of course – he was able to gather all manner of intelligence, particularly about the training team members.

There was the Director, a mysterious creature who was never called by name. Threepio visualized a tall shadowy specter, haunting the ship's training rooms. When he finally did appear in the library, the droid was almost disappointed to find him to be an ordinary man, of friendly, but choleric temperament. He felt somewhat irritated that they were not introduced, especially since the Director had come there in the first place to congratulate the Lieutenant for her report on the standards and directives _he_ had translated. Later, Miss Laurie explained that, where the Director was concerned, it was generally best not to give him too much information. Once he made up his mind about something, changing it was nearly impossible. "He is always definite," the woman signed, "And frequently right. The trick is keeping him from making a decision too soon." What the Director's decisiveness might have to do with him, however, escaped the droid.

Then there was Lieutenant Marton's – Miss Laurie's – immediate supervisor Major Rora, whom Miss Laurie generally referred to by his given name, or "Major Jon." He was one of the subdirectors, who oversaw the various operations of the training unit. His specialty was the planning and implementation of new and regionally-specific programming. He spent a lot of time in the library, researching cultures. When Threepio remarked on his studies, Miss Laurie observed, "There's a lot more to law enforcement than control tactics and use of force. The best tactics are those that get compliance without force; and you don't figure those out without knowing the culture."

Threepio could see he had a lot to learn about policing. But then that thought startled him. He had no intentions of remaining with this arm of the Bureaucracy any longer than an escape would require! He would have to be doubly careful, with his words as well as his attitudes! If only he could find out their training routine, or their itinerary. If they delivered training in a system with an Alliance base or operative cell …well, perhaps he could slip away unnoticed. Somehow.

But the work kept coming, as did the training staff. Threepio overheard other sub-directors mentioned in conversation, but few of them saw fit to visit the library. Miss Laurie sniffed something about contentment with the status quo, and left it at that.

Instructors would occasionally peek in, and some would stay to visit. Miss Laurie was cordial, even familiar, with all of them. They were all men well along in life, who had gained their knowledge more from practical experience than from scholarly speculation. Although the librarian respected education, her enthusiastic deference to them was surprising. Yet not so surprising. As she explained, "It's always a thrill to be around people who know what they're doing, and why they're doing itl."

The droid had somehow expected such an answer. It was in keeping with the character of this "character" of the library. She was a lieutenant, yes, but unlike any he had ever seen before. He watched her as she talked excitedly with a couple of young troopers who were completing some sort of course work. She reminded the droid of Master Luke. Not that they looked alike, aside from being fair-complected humans, but her eagerness, her cheerfulness, her confidence, her interest in making a difference – not at all like those demanding masters he had known in the days before he had come to serve the Alliance. Threepio estimated that she was about Captain Solo's age, yet she had escaped the cynicism that colored his outlook. She seemed so willing to talk, that eventually he asked her about her position.

"I couldn't help but notice, but you do seem to have a lot of authority with the crew," he observed. She burst out laughing: something, he had learned, she did frequently.

"Not with the crew! I'm just a second lieutenant with the training unit. Nobody pays any attention to what I say."

"But when you commandeered me…"

She laughed again. "What I lack in authority, I make up for in volume. The sonic blast probably stunned them into compliance."

He pressed her to explain herself. She leaned back in her swivel chair and began, "Officially, I'm the manager of library and information services for the training unit. And I'm not just some space academy reject they brought in to put away books, " she added, pointing to a framed diploma hanging on the bulkhead. "I'm a professional with letters behind my name. But, privately," she confided, "I suspect my position is really something between vivandiere and village idiot. I keep them amused, and give them something to feel superior to." She gave him a comical half-smile of wry resignation. "It beats living under a bridge. Philosophically, though–" and her face grew thoughtful, "–I think I'm the signpost.:

"Ths signpost?"

"Uh-huh. My big revelation in library school was that librarians exist to help people find information. I hadn't seen many do it, so the news impressed me. Therefore, I'm not the journey, and I'm not the destination. I point people toward the truth they need. The drawback is that people consult the signpost, but don't stick around to visit." She turned to look at him. 'That sounds kind of crazy, doesn't it?" As he stammered a reply, she began to laugh. "I'm sorry," she said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. "That was a silly, awkward question. Maybe someday I'll learn to give sensible answers to sensible questions."

Her outlook was decidedly unique, even whimsical. She twittered around the room, whistling, humming, singing snatches of happy songs,: She was as irrepressible as an R2 unit! And she would persist in calling him "Mister Ferguson," which was eventually shortened to "Ferguson." She justified the sobriquet by explaining, "If you hadn't understood the joke, I would probably have quit," Finally, he gave up correcting her. He expected he could put up with the absurdity for a little while, until he could arrange to get away.

But he was not so sure he would be able to put up with Miss Laurie's utter lack of understanding of a droid's functional capacity. Occasionally she would ask his opinion on policy matters. Such questions were for masters to decide, not mechanicals. At first, he demurred.

"I'm hardly in a position to say. After all, I'm only a droid –"

"Precisely!" she would exclaim, spinning in her swivel chair to face him with a prim smirk. 'You're not a robot!" She would then proceed to wheedle an answer out of him. Eventually, he began to reply without an argument.

Several days later, she returned from a staff meeting , wearing that same look of smug pride. It seemed to Threepio, she was also trying to suppress a fit of giggles. She danced over to the worktable table where he was sitting, planted her elbows on it, and rested her chin on her hands, facing him.

"Guess what!"

Of course he couldn't guess.  
>"That last set of suggestions you gave? They just earned the Training Team a commendation!" She stood up, and burst out laughing. "It looks to me like people ought to be asking droids their opinions more often!" She leaned on the table, adding, "I'm glad you say what you think, too. You've already kept me from falling into a couple of Abilene Paradoxes1."<p>

Maybe it was silly of him, but her vindication of his kind's capabilities made him feel proud, too. It would be a fine thing to remember when he returned to the Alliance.

_When he returned to the Alliance… _At this point, escape seemed unlikely. Still, his captors hadn't dragged him off for questioning yet. Whenever armored troopers entered the room, though, he did his best to look inconspicuous: an improbable feat, considering the brilliance of his casing in that black and grey setting. But eventually, the library regulars forgot he was there. As it ever was with droids.

That invisibility might prove useful. With as careless a guard as Miss Laurie, he was sure he could effect a getaway sometime, and, if other observers took no notice of him, so much the better. He was thinking about methods one day, when he noticed Miss Laurie fishing some discarded papers out of a wastebasket to reclaim the paperclips, and then examining the sheets to see if any could be reused. It was a small thing, but combined with other scrimping he had seen, and stories he had overheard about conditions on other ships, they began to add up. _The starfleet was underfunded._ The conclusion amazed him. The Imperial starships may look imposing, but it was only a facade concealing how poorly equipped the fleet really was. He could hardly wait to get back to Master Luke to tell him. A few well-placed strikes, and the whole infrastructure could be overthrown easily. If only he could come up with a plan to escape– or knew where to escape to!

He nearly gave away his thoughts one afternoon. He had been so preoccupied, thinking of ways to learn the Mobile Team's training schedule, that he had failed to answer when Miss Laurie called him. His apology must have sounded distracted, because she commented,

"You look fidgety, Ferguson. Anything the matter?"

"Not as such. Just a little overwhelmed with standards and directives, I guess."

The woman stared at him blankly, then slapped her forehead.

"Am I the dummy! You haven't been out of the library since you boarded the ship! I'm so sorry!" She leaned forward in her chair. "If you aren't fed up with standards, you ought to be! Would you like to– " she groped for an idea "– do something?" She added, regretfully, "I'm afraid there aren't any other droids on the ship, though." She thought a moment. "Would hob-nobbing in the drone pool be any fun?"

Threepio had long since understood that Miss Laurie was a kind person, but she seemed to have no clue about the social capacities of the basic types of mechanicals. Communicating with a drone, or a robot, when it was not in service, was like trying to hold a conversation with a kitchen appliance.

"No, I'll find something to do here. Thank you, anyway." He had to admit that her concern for his recreational needs was flattering. Few masters recognized their units' need for periodic relaxation.

Miss Laurie watched him, then jumped from her chair. "Come on," she spoke quickly. She pulled on his arm. "What do you say we find out what's going on in the rec room." Before he realized what he was doing, he found himself following her out the door. She reached behind him to shut out the lights.

"Are you sure this is all right? You're still on duty, aren't you?" The door closed behind them.

"They haven't exactly been falling over themselves to get in here today. Having to wait until tomorrow might remind them not to take the library for granted," she remarked, with a toss of her head. "This way."

Threepio followed, not without a vague sense of uneasiness. Yet, he was curious to see the ship. Miss Laurie did not take the most direct rout to the recreation area. She took him past the officers' quarters, pointing out her own, at the end of a passage part way down the main corridor from where the library's hallway joined it. Then came the barracks, the training rooms, gymnasiums, the control rooms, the drone pool and maintenance bay – he had seen that earlier – the compacting units, the emergency level, the hangar. If called upon, the ship could still function in a battle. She even detoured through the lowest level to look at the storage lockers. One of them, she explained, was for the library's overflow. Considering the amount of material the library managed, Threepio was surprised there was only one! Then, up the ramps, around a few corners, and there they stood before the recreation area.

The place was unnecessarily large, dingy and harshly lighted. At that hour, it was comparatively empty. Several troopers in undress uniform were grouped around a game table, deep in discussion. A few officers milled about among the shabby tables and threadbare easy chairs, and then wandered out of the room's indifferent brightness into the dimly-lighted refreshment area. The clink of glasses and low, throbbing music spilled out as they opened the door. The woman and the droid surveyed the options.

"So," she asked brightly, "What would you like to do?"

"I can hardly say. I've never been to a place like this before."

Miss Laurie smiled uncertainly. "To tell you the truth, neither have I"

"Why not?" Even as he asked, though, he was not surprised. Her erudite giddiness was hardly in keeping with these sordid surroundings.

She leaned close, and whispered, "Probably for the same reason you wouldn't want to visit with drones. Those blank stares make me nervous." She gestured in the direction of the barroom. "That seems to be the main activity down here, and I don't drink." She chuckled to herself. "I'm too silly now." She scanned the room again. "I'm not even sure what some of this stuff is."

Threepio was, and was reasonably certain that she would be much happier not knowing. One of the game tables looked familiar.

"Unless I'm much mistaken, there's a dejarik table in the corner, and it appears functional Do you play?"

She watched him with a puzzled frown as he stepped to the table and tried the activation switch. "I don't think so. I've never heard of it." The familiar great beasts flickered into existence. As the holograms glared at each other, Miss Laurie's face lit up. "Oh, Vrax! Yes, I play that. But it's been years, and I wasn't very good then," she added, as she slid into one of the chairs.

Only she didn't like the monsters. She asked if they could use different game pieces. The table provided a number of options, so Threepio adjusted the settings. She didn't like the humans with axes, or the giant spiders; and he didn't care at all for the battledroids. Several options –well, the less said of them, the better. As Miss Laurie remarked, with averted eyes, "Some game designer needs professional help." Finally, they settled on the dancers. As play was made, the pieces performed a sort of ballet. Instead of meeting a violent end, defeated pieces danced from the board. On the whole, it was a more entertaining spectacle than that of the traditional wheezing behemoths.

She moved first. The figures leaped and pirouetted about the board, to the snatches of tune Miss Laurie was humming. Her musical selections may have been appropriate, but they were distracting. Threepio knew he was not playing at his best, yet he won the game. Miss Laurie watched as his remaining piece make a deep bow to each player, then vanished. She smiled, "Say, that was fun. Shall we try it again?"

He had no objection. Again, the figures swirled around the board, and, again, he won. He found himself enjoying the rare pleasure of game play without any uneasiness about reprisals from a losing opponent. In fact, the woman seemed as pleased as he when he won. They began another game.

But it was too pleasant to last. The game was interrupted by a sudden, authoritarian bark.

"Hey!" A broad-chested lieutenant cast his shadow over the board. He glared in Threepio's direction as he growled, "What's that doing down here? Mechs can't come in here!" His tone was crisp, but his diction had the hint of a slur. Evidently, he had been enjoying the services of the barroom. The droid looked to Miss Laurie for direction.  
>Her smile remained, but its warmth was gone. The look in her eye was chilly with contempt. She assessed her opponent before she spoke. "Well, why shouldn't he be here?" she shrugged. "There's no sign posted. Nobody else is using the table, and it doesn't look like anyone else wants to."<p>

The lieutenant continued his tirade as if she had been silent. "Mechs don't belong here. They're supposed to be working. Get back to work, you!"

Perhaps it was her expression, or the stark overhead lighting, but the woman's blue eyes looked steely as she watched the man's threatening gestures. Her voice lost none of its volume, but as she spoke, its pitch dropped.

"What makes you think he's not working now? Do you see anyone else around who wants to play Vrax with me?" The other officer looked around as Miss Laurie went on . "Would _you_ like to play with me?" He frowned at her. "Well, then, it looks like he's got a job to do," she concluded with a wry smile. In spite of her effort at cheerfulness, Threepio noticed her grip on the arms of the chair was tight enough to whiten her knuckles. The troopers at the other table had stopped talking, to watch the proceedings. Even the game pieces stood impatiently, arms akimbo, tapping their feet. The other officer, however, was still determined.

"It's in the conduct manual. Get that thing out of here."

"The conduct manual doesn't say anything about droids in the recreation area, but it does say that officers are entitled to bring guests to enjoy any facilities they themselves are entitled to use. He's here as my guest." Miss Laurie rose from her chair to face the man. He wavered unsteadily as he looked at Threepio.

"What is this? A date?"

Miss Laurie's face relaxed into an impatient, indulgent scowl, as she sought for a way to silence the officer. Finally, she said, "Yeah! Is there a problem?"

The man shook his head in disgust, and, with an irritated wave of his hand, he wandered back to the barroom. The woman watched him go, her grin changing to a look of disapproval mixed with pity. 'That's not going to help him," she said softly. With a sigh, she resumed her place at the table. The troopers returned to their conversation.

"So, where were we? Is it my turn or yours?"

"I'm …I'm afraid I've lost track." The challenge had unnerved the droid more than he cared to admit. And the delay in play had caused the pieces to wander off their places on the board, so they were no help.

The woman laughed quietly. "Let's just start again."

As he reset the game, Threepio couldn't help but wonder if the other lieutenant had been correct. As the new corps of dancers spread themselves on the board, he asked, "Are you sure I'm permitted to be here? I mean, if my presence is troublesome, I would be happy to return to the library. . " Well, perhaps "happy" was a stretch, but he would have preferred it to further hostile interruptions. He looked up, and found Miss Laurie giving him the same indulgent scowl she had directed at the intruder.

"If it was contrary to regulations, I'd never have brought you here. The code of conduct says nothing about droids, or any other mechanicals, in the recreation area. I'll admit," she continued, the indulgence melting from her smile, "that it may be because nobody ever thought a mechanical might be interested, but their lack of imagination is not our problem. Besides, he's new here." The woman glanced toward the bar. "He's assigned to the ship, not the Training Team. I think his name is Hitch."

Threepio had already noticed the tension between the ship's crew and the Training Team staff. The reason for it he had not yet determined, but, based on his experience with the warriors of the Alliance, suspected the ship's crew resented being taken out of combat service. He shook his head, Why some humans would feel ill-used at _not_ being thrown into danger was something he was sure he would never understand. Yet, the ship's crew was well-disciplined, particularly in matters of authority. So, he commented, "I noticed you were of equal rank. If he's new, couldn't you have used your seniority to order him off?"

"Just because you can doesn't mean you should. I sure felt like giving him a piece of my mind, but –" and her voice grew softer "– It wouldn't have helped him change." She watched the dancing game pieces without really seeing them. "If he doesn't change his ways, he's going to get himself into real trouble."

The two played in silence for a time. At one point, a burst of guffaws came from the bar. Miss Laurie shot an impatient scowl in its direction, and shifted her chair so its back was toward the gloomy den.

"I see sarcasm is wasted on the pompous," she grumbled. Glancing up at Threepio, she added, "By the way, I'm sorry about that 'date' crack. It just seemed like the thing most likely to shut him up."

"Don't…don't mention it."  
>"I've got an uneasy feeling that <em>they're<em> going to mention it, though," she said in a low voice, nodding toward the barroom. "I hope you're good at ignoring wisecracks."

Threepio began to grasp her implication. "My experience has been that humans tend to ignore droids. I doubt you'll be troubled with any repercussions."

"It's not me I'm worried about." She snorted. "They already think I'm a nut."

Unexpectedly, the droid found himself touched by her concern. "I imagine I'll survive any insults. A courteous response often silences unfounded innuendo."

Miss Laurie's smile grew tight at the memory of the incident.

"Yeah. Courtesy is what you fall back on when you don't feel like being kind. " The warmth returned to her smile. "As if I'm telling you something you don't know already."

As the game progressed, Threepio wondered about her unexpected reply to the belligerent lieutenant. Through watching and listening, Threepio had concluded some time ago that Miss Laurie was one of the few women on the ship. Yet, she seemed to receive a marked lack of masculine attention. The droid had served on starships long enough to have observed that, during long cruises, even the plainest of females attracted a circle of admirers. Miss Laurie's appearance was far from unpleasant, but the only times she left the library were for mess call and lights out. And she always left alone.

_Could it be she had told the man the truth!"_

"Er, Miss Laurie…About that comment – was it – did you, , ?"

.The woman leaned back in her seat, her face twisted into an exasperated grimace. "Well, it's as close to one as I'm likely to get with this crowd. But, despair not, comely wrench," she exclaimed with a melodramatic gesture, "I have no nefarious designs upon thee. And it's still your move."

The reassurances of her conscious malapropism made him careless. Thoughtlessly, he moved his piece into a vulnerable spot. The woman's piece tapped it on the shoulder, took its hands, spun the figure around, and, with a grand jete, his piece leaped into oblivion. Miss Laurie gasped.

"I'm sorry!" she exclaimed. "I hadn't meant to move there!"

"Why should you apologize? It was a fair move. As a matter of fact, you've won the game. I would have thought you'd be pleased." He looked at her intently as a thought occurred to him. "By any chance, have you been letting me win?"

"Well," she said, after a thoughtful pause, "Let's say I've been giving you every opportunity to play at your best." She reached for the game's reset switch.

"Why, that's…that's cheating!" Threepio sputtered. "But I've never heard anyone cheating to lose, certainly not to a droid."

"Look at it this way." The woman placed her elbows on the game table and rested her head on her hands."I like to play, whether I win or not. You like to play if you win. This way, I get to play, and you get to win. We're both happy."

"I can't say I approve of your reasoning," Threepio sniffed. "But I can think of a wookiee who would love you."

Miss Laurie sat back as the game pieces flickered onto the board. "I knew a Wookey once," she remarked. "George Wookey2. He was a diver. I wonder if they might be related"

"Was he human?"

"Yes."

"I strongly doubt it," the droid sighed. "I believe you move first."

* * *

><p>Notes:<p>

1_The Abilene Paradox_ is a modern parable used in management training, to illustrate the importance of truthful contributions to the planning process. In it, a small group of visitors decide to go to a restaurant in Abilene. It's a long, hot drive, the food is poor, and they all have a miserable time. When they get home, and start blaming each other for the wasted evening, they discover that _none_ of them had wanted to go to Abilene, but each of them had assumed the rest of the group did. No one wanted to challenge the group, so the group ended up doing something contract to its best interest. See: Harvey, Jerry B. _The Abilene paradox and other meditations on management_. Lexington Books 1988.

2Lieutenant George Wookey - [London] Telegraph [Web Page]. April 6, 2007.


	4. Chapter 4

IV –Fortunate Indiscretions and Happy Disasters

Kindness is the golden chain which binds civilization.  
>Goethe<p>

* * *

><p>The days were busy but uneventful; monotonous, but reassuring. Threepio felt himself becoming a fixture in the library. Even the troopers who happened to wander into the room no longer seemed to see him, any more than they did the office equipment or the occasional drone that would amble in, delivering paperwork from other divisions of the training unit.<p>

Each day was like another. After reveille and mess call, Mss Laurie would arrive to open the doors for business. He could hear the brisk click of her pumps on the metal floor, and the snatches of song she invariably whistled or sang, long before the door slid open.

She would then find answers to the questions that instructors had posed during the night. Then they would translate some standards, then came some more messages. She would pull reports from the stacks, put texts back on the shelves, there would be some more translation, more messages. Finally, mess call would sound again, she would sign off her workstation, shut off the light, and close the library for another day.

One day, reveille sounded, then ness call, then... nothing. No whistling, no singing, no cheerful clatter in the corridor as she slid open the door. Fifteen minutes, thirty minutes. No Miss Laurie. She had said nothing about any previous obligations the day before. Threepio concern over her whereabouts grew.

He wondered if he should investigate. Except for the junket to the recreation room, he had not left the library; but, then again, he hadn't been ordered to stay there, either. Finally, he decided there could be no harm in checking her quarters. He slid open the door, and stepped into the empty corridor. It was a short walk to the main passage. As he recalled, her quarters were to the right, then right again. The placard by the last entryway said "Lt. Laurie Marton."

He rapped on the hatch. Inside, he heard a muffled answer, then the sound of something clattering to the floor. He knocked again.

"Miss Laurie, are you all right? Miss Laurie?"

He tried the hatch activation panel, but the door was secured from the inside. He knocked again, harder. Finally, the door slid open. He looked around the small chamber before stepping inside. It was a typical example of a minor officer's quarters, drab, dim, and austere. On the bunk was a rumpled pile of clothes. Threepio looked more closely, and realized that the pile was, in fact, a jumble of bedding. In the midst of the tangle lay Miss Laurie, face down, clearly suffering.

"I'm sorry about the delay. I dropped the remote."

"Why, Miss Laurie! What's wrong? Do you need a medic? You look perfectly wretched!"

She raised her head. "I feel wretched, and far from perfect." Her head dropped heavily into the pillow, face first. "I should be all right by tomorrow. Once or twice a year, I have a bad time of it."

"What do you mean, "A bad time of. . oh." He watched her as she tried to find a comfortable position. "I'm sorry to see you like this. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I don't know what it would be. Yes, I do," she added, on second thought. "Could you tell Jon I'm sick, and field any calls until he can turn on the answering system? If I feel better, I'll come in later."

"Of course." The droid turned to go, then stopped. "Have you had any breakfast?"  
>She shook her head. "I doubt I could keep anything down. I've maxed out on painkillers, though."<p>

"I'll send something for you." When she started to protest, he interrupted, "Yes, I know. But, when her Highness would have, as you say, a bad time of it, tea and toast points greatly improved her disposition." He stepped toward the door. "When it gets here, I'll expect you to eat it," he ordered with mock severity, "And I'll be back later to make sure you've done it."

She raised her head again, her expression combining a frown and a laugh. "Aye, aye, sir," she mumbled, as her head fell back on the pillow. The hatch slid closed.

It took longer than he expected to inform her supervising colonel of her malady, to coax a custom menu out of the kitchen robots, and satisfy the trickle of library visitors who had not yet heard of its closure. But eventually, Threepio was able, as Miss Laurie had so often done, to sign off her workstation, turn out the lights, and close the library for another day. In a few moments, he had returned to her quarters.

He tapped on the door, then tapped again. No answer. He pressed the activation panel. This time, the door slid aside. Again, he stepped into the room. The bunk was much tidier, but empty. Considering her condition, she would not have left – unless , perhaps, the medics had come for her. No, that seemed unlikely. He had not heard any alarms. He shut the hatch.

"Miss Laurie!" He called.

"Who is it/" He could hear her voice, but it seemed to be coming from the closet!

"It's Threepio. Where are you?"

"I'm in the back room. Come on in."

He looked around uncertainly. "Come where? Are you in the closet?"

"No, behind it. It's an armoire." As he moved through the gloomy room, he noticed that the black doors that had appeared flush with the wall were, in fact, part of a separate storage locker. It was far enough away from the wall to allow a person to walk behind it, yet large enough to completely conceal an opening in the wall. Warm light, filtering through a heavy lace drape, glinted off the back of the locker.

If he slid sideways, he could just fit in the space. Threepio eased himself through the short passage, and pushed aside the curtain.

This was quite different. This long, narrow room was as cheerful as the other had been functional. Several small lamps, sitting on shelves and a lace-covered end table, cast a friendly amber glow on the sitting room; their efforts encouraged by an eclectic collection of mirrors. One side of the room was devoted to bookshelves. Most of the larger books stood in solemn rank, while smaller ones lay in orderly carelessness, waiting to make room for more literary friends. Stacks of sound recordings, in various formats, lined the lower shelves. In the remaining wall space were prints of famous paintings, a carved wooden cross with a wreath of flowers around it, and a lace wall hanging of the Imperial emblem. Beneath it was Miss Laurie. She was lounging on a sofa, still in the same baggy exercise clothes, under a lacy coverlet, busily occupied with some handwork. She set it on the low table next to the sofa as she waved him in.

"How do you feel, Miss Laurie?"

She beamed at him admiringly. "I think I'll live! I wasn't so sure this morning. You'll have to tell me how you managed to convince the mess crew to make tea that doesn't taste like somebody walked in it." He scarcely heard her. His attention was drawn to the little knick-knacks crowded around the lamps, or nearly hidden among the books; the quirky drawings that peeked from behind leafy little swags, which crept up the walls like vines. The crystal drops dangling from the lampshades cast spectra on the scatter rugs. Wherever he turned, there was a new wonder.  
>Miss Laurie suppressed a smile. "Welcome to 'Vagabond House1.'" Threepio wandered toward the sofa.<p>

"I'm not surprised this suits your fancy in every way. A professional decorator might be appalled, but–" he looked around the room again "– it's really quite charming."

"Thank you for saying so! The space is where the insulation between the officer's quarters and the inner hull was supposed to go . Those shelves are actually part of the rack for the bales. They must have run out of money for it, so I put the books there instead. Nobody was doing anything with the space, so I moved in." She looked at her creation admiringly. " Everybody needs some prettiness somewhere."

Threepio was still trying to take in the sights. "I'm amazed at the variety of your ornaments. You surely haven't acquired them all during this cruise."

She laughed. "No. I haven't been off this ship in over a year. Most of these pretties belonged to family and friends. They entrusted them to me, so I could pass them on to someone else. They do clutter up the place, don't they."

"On the contrary! They add an inviting familiarity and – they're no doubt excellent conversation-starters."

A shadow crossed the woman's face. "They would be if anyone else would come here. So far, everyone I've invited has had other things to do besides sit and talk. But, you're right. All this familiar stuff does remind me of my family."

Threepio watched as the light gradually returned to her face, them feared his next question might drive it away again. "I've never heard you mention your family before." As he spoke, he noticed a portrait on the wall near the curtain covering the entry. Miss Laurie – a younger Miss Laurie – smiled brightly beside a dour young man in the dress uniform of an astrogunner. In front of them sat a middle-aged couple, whose expressions of resigned contentment told of useful lives, if not completely fulfilled ones. "Is this your family?"

"Yes." She winced as she twisted to look at the picture. The droid turned in concern, "I guess I'm still a little sore. Yes, that's my family."

"You've never mentioned your home world, either. Where are they now?"

"So far as I know, in the presence of the Maker." Threepio recoiled at his blunder, but she waved away his dismay. "I'm used to it. My brother drove well, but he liked to drive fast. He was good, but he wasn't good enough to get out of the way of a car that ran a signal. The shock affected my father's heart. Soon afterward, my mother was diagnosed with cancer, and . . .well, I'm the last of the Irish Rover." A pensive calm came over the room.

The droid fidgeted uncomfortably, and tried to change the subject. "Your drape –" He pointed toward the doorway, "– is quite unique. Did you make it?"

"Half of it." Cheerfulness was returning to her voice. "One of my mother's friends found it, half-done, in a corner of an attic. She gave it to me to finish. I had such a good time making the motifs that I ended up with twice as many as I needed, so I made little pockets on the reverse side. They were just the right size for some old data discs I was supposed to get rid of, so I re-purposed them." The iridescent discs made the drape shimmer like a spider web of rainbows, yet they blocked enough light to hide the existence to the salon from anyone entering the sleeping quarters.

"Judging from its pattern, I imagine you also made the table covers –"

"Uh-huh."

"– and the wall hanging and the afghan?"

"I sure did." She held up the doily she had been working on when he entered..This is a new pattern. "I'm kind of a nitwit about handwork."

"Judging from what you've been doing, I'd say you were more of a crochet-wit."

She laughed as she wrapped the doily around the ball of thread. "You _are_ good! I can count on my thumb the number of people who can tell crochet from a hole in the wall."

The comparison made no sene to the droid, but, by now, he was used to her illogical comparisons. "Did you also make the little sketches? "

"Only the cartoon-y ones. I'm not very good." On the low table by the sofa was a spiral-bound sketchbook. She took it, flipped it open to an awkward rendering of a dancing couple, and held it up for him to see; then turned to a blank page. "Sometimes, you need a picture that nobody else has thought to draw. Maybe someday I'll find someone who can draw them right. But, in the meantime, it's the best I could do." She pointed to a handleless mug filled with writing utensils. "Say, could you hand me a pencil?"

"Gladly." He passed one to her. "Here you are."

"Thank you." She adjusted the afghan, and prepared to draw. "And here we are."

* * *

><p>Miss Laurie's eyes sparkled with interest. "You were part of a princess's retinue! I knew you were good, but that's remarkable!" she said, impressed. "What did you do after you were withdrawn?"<p>

Threepio looked at her, startled.. "How did you know I was withdrawn?"

"Well. . .I didn't really _know_: I just guessed." His inquiring gaze led her to explain."You know, at first I thought it was just me, or that it was something about the lighting, but I finally realized that, yes, the casing on your legs really does not match." Threepio looked down at the lower portion of his legs. The right one was the same rich gold color as the rest of his casing. The left one, however, had more of a platinum cast. "The Royal House of Alderaan might have taken a lot of ceremonial liberties, but even they wouldn't use a droid with mismatched casing at state functions. Their loss, I'd say." She looked over her pad at Threepio. "How did it happen?"

He fidgeted, and she immediately became apologetic. "But it's probably not something you'd care to discuss. It was rude of me to bring it up. It's really none of my business."

"No, not exactly. I don't really _mind_. . ." He hesitated a moment, and continued. "I was attending the Princess Swana at the reception for the Exalted Patriarch of the United Peoples of the Shovig at the annual Oath of Fealty Ceremony. Now, normally such affairs were held in one of the palace's smaller chambers. This was such an important occasion, and so many people would be present, that it was held in the Grand Hall and – do you know what the Grand Hall of the Royal Palace of Alderaan was like?"

"I've seen pictures. I t was the most gorgeous place I've ever seen."

"I only saw it once, but pictures do not do it justice. A more magnificent hall has never been built. Those white stone walls and pillars, decorated with gold, and jewels; with fountains, and the flowering vines; and the state robes and gowns, and . . " he shook himself back to the present. ". . .it was truly splendid. Anyway, I was to attend her Highness the Princess Swana at the ceremony. . .Are you familiar with the ceremony?"

"I know a little about fealty ceremonies, but not that one specifically."

Threepio drew himself up proudly as he described it. "On that day, the members of the noble houses present themselves, in turn, to their Leader. They bow, swear their loyalty, and retire. As her highness presented herself, she lost her balance. Do you know anything of her High –" Miss Laurie was shaking her head "– Well, she was an elderly woman who used a walking stick. She was also somewhat hard of hearing, so I had to stand close to her. When she stumbled, I attempted to assist her, but she regained her footing immediately, and the presentation went on without incident. But afterward." He paused, looked down at his legs, then resumed his story. "Perhaps it was a result of her age, or her rheumatism, but her Highness could be of most uncertain temperament. She accused me of having stepped on her train, and causing her to fall. And then. . " He paused again, and looked over at Miss Laurie. "Her cane had a large jeweled knob. I hadn't realized until then just how formidable a weapon that cane could be. A jeweled head like that can serve as a surprisingly effective mace."

"Oh no! I can just imagine!"

"Oh, yes. At first, I thought she had broken the whole leg, but, as it is, she only mangled the casing. By the time the replacement piece was ordered, the manufacturer had discontinued this particular tone of casing. So. . .I was reassigned to the starfleet, and there you have it."

Miss Laurie frowned sympathetically. "That _is_ too bad. Well," she shrugged, "Join the Starfleet, see the worlds, I guess."  
>"If you do, your guess would be wrong. All I saw were the maintenance bays, engine rooms, and an occasional conference chamber!" He turned to look at the bookcase. "I had been both programmed and trained – trained, mind you! – in the finer points of diplomatic service; and was reduced to interpreting for maladjusted repair units!"<p>

"I'd be pretty mad, too, " Miss Laurie answered, after watching him for a moment. "Though, in a way," she continued slowly, "Princess What's-her-name might have done you a favor."

"A favor!" Threepio turned abruptly. "How could ruining a promising career have been a favor?"

"Well," she began, "If she hadn't smashed your leg, you would have stayed in her retinue?"

"I believe so; yes."

"So you would have been on Alderaan when it blew up."

"Of course I would. . . Oh!" The idea startled him into silence. Finally, he admitted, "I never looked at it that way."

"It sounds to me like the blow that ruined your career saved your life." She turned her attention to the sketchpad. "It's funny how often what we think has ruined us end up leading to something wonderful. Life is full of fortunate indiscretions and happy disasters." She looked at him, as he tried to absorb her words. "Um - by the way, about that train. Don't tell me if you don't want to, but – um – did you?"

"Well, I, er. . ."

She burst out laughing. "Please don't be annoyed: I'm not laughing at you. I've seen pictures of those court trains. They look long enough to be hauling coal!" She paused to catch her breath. "Some people just have no sense of humor." As she recovered her composure, she said, "But in your case, maybe that was a good thing."

"I'm beginning to think you might be right."

* * *

><p>"'Goldenrod?' Why does he call you that?"<p>

Threepio gave her a good impression of a reproachful frown. "Oh, now really!"

"Well – yes – I can see _that_; but at that rate he could call you 'Gold_fish_.' " The woman thought a moment. "Do you know what goldenrod is?"

"Yes," the droid growled. "It's a weed, noted for pollen believed to irritate the respiratory systems of humans on every green planet where it grows."

"Maybe he's allergic to you."

"He behaves as if he were!"

The woman leaned back and blinked at the ceiling. "My father used to plant goldenrod in some of his flowerbeds." The droid looked at her curiously. "A weed, after all, is a plant growing in the wrong place, or growing in an undisciplined way. In the right surroundings, and with the right care, goldenrod is a lovely flower. It's about this high –" she raised her hand about a meter and a half from the floor "– with dark yellow flowers that form a plume." They're tall and elegant, and cheerful-looking as they wave in the breeze." As if demonstrating, she slowly waved at him. "There are some insults that are really compliments."

"That isn't how he meant it."

"Maybe not. But at least you know that fellow doesn't know what he's talking about."

* * *

><p>Threepio observed, "You've mentioned your family a number of times, but I've never heard you mention a family of your own."<br>"Because I don't have a family of my own. And you look surprised,."

Threepio set down the jar of marbles he had been admiring, and looked in her direction. She squealed in delight.

"Hey! That's neat! Your face hasn't moved, but you're frowning!" She wrapped her arms around her knees and the sketch pad. "What's the trouble?"

Threepio faceplate did not change, but he was aware that, depending on how the light fell across it, humans occasionally believed they had seen the expression change. In this case, however, a frown would have suited his thoughts.

"No trouble; but I am puzzled. You seem so suited to domestic life."

"It's funny you should say that," she chuckled. "Don't let this get around, but my secret ambition in life was to be a housewife."

"Why didn't you?" As soon as he said it, he regretted the intrusive question.

Miss Laurie did not appear offended. She gave him that familiar prim smirk, which twisted into a wry grin. "Well," she began, "For one thing, because nobody wanted me."

Threepio wished for a way to change the subject. But Miss Laurie clung to this one.  
>"I'm sorry! It was terribly rude of me to put it that way!" She paused, then added, "I don't know how you managed it, but now you look like you're blushing." She chuckled again. "I'm not laughing at you. I'm laughing at <em>me.<em> Now you know Reason Two why I'm not married. No guy in his right mind would put up with smart retorts like that one."

The droid could think of a number of men of his acquaintance who would consider such a remark a comforting relief compared with their customary exchanges with their partners, but thought better of mentioning it. Part of her answer, though, intrigued him.

"What's Reason One? If you don't mind my asking," he added hastily.

"I don't mind at all. I'm not a housewife because it was more important that I become a librarian on the _Vigilant_."

"Why?" Her bluntness encouraged his curiosity.

Miss Laurie suppressed a knowing smile. "I'm living toward the answer."

* * *

><p>"So this guy who calls you Goldenrod took a shot at you while you were immobile in the maintenance bay?"<br>"Yes. I'm afraid we never got on, and this was his way of dealing with pent-up resentment."

Miss Laurie pursed her lips and frowned. "I don't think he hates you. It sounds to me like he's jealous of you."

"Jealous? Of a droid?"

"Sure! I'll show you want I mean." She slid the pencil into the sketchpad's spiral binding, and began to map her argument in the air with her fingers. "If he's as rude and awkward as you say around the Princess, I'd bet that he's romantically interested in her – yes, and guys do sometimes have a funny way of showing it," she added, anticipating Threepio's challenge to her reasoning. "Now what interest is a princess going to have in a guy whose refined behavior probably doesn't go much farther than being able to eat with a fork? You, on the other hand, know what to do in nice company, and when, where, and with whom to do it. You have what he needs, and he knows it."

"But I have no biological interest in the Princess – or anyone else for that matter."

"Exactly. From his point of view, all those social graces are going to waste. That's why he's jealous."  
>Threepio considered the explanation. "You may be right. But he could hardly be considered a troglodyte." He was surprised to hear himself defending Captain Solo.<p>

"Maybe, instead of being angry with him, you should feel sorry for him. Or maybe you could help him learn those skills."

"Now that _would_ be a challenge. He despises being pitied, and avoids speaking to me."

"In any event, It beats being bitter." She picked up her pencil. " I'm kind of surprised he would take to the Princess. She sounds almost as cranky as the one you used to work for."

"She may have moments of irritability, but normally her behavior is completely justified," Threepio said, stiffening slightly.

"That's good." Then Miss Laurie fell silent, staring at nothing in particular. Finally Threepio interrupted her.

"Is something the matter?" The woman stirred from her reverie.

"No. I was just thinking," she sighed.. "It must be awful to know you can never go home."

* * *

><p>"I' must say, Miss Laurie, that your taste in literature surprises me."<p>

"In what way? I admit I have an embarrassing preference for swashbuckling adventure stories and kid's books, but. . ."

"No, no. I mean all these compiled statutes and binders of medical reports." Threepio turned from the shelves to look at the woman on the couch. "They hardly seem like the sort of thing you would find entertaining."

Her expression grew mischievous. "I'm full of surprises. Take one down." He selected a volume about intersystem export regulations. To his amazement, the text block was not a block at all, but uneven and multicolored. It was, in fact, a collection of smaller books, bound into the law book's cover.

"_Aunt Dollie and the Perky Puppy_. _More and More Aunt Dollie Stories_, _Aunt Dollie and the Wonderful Umbrella_. ..Why, they're children's stories!"

"Uh-huh!" Miss Laurie smiled proudly. "There's a complete set of Aunt Dollie books behind those covers. Plus a fair number of other light classics, poetry, and underappreciated novels and reference books. That collection is the work of years of prowling recycling bins and used book sales They're gems I've rescued from other people's dustheaps."

"Aunt Dollie. I doubt there was a child on Alderaan,– or a parent, for that matter– who didn't know and love Aunt Dollie." He returned the disguised treasures to their place.

"You know the stories?"

"I know _all_ of them. It might surprise you how often dignitaries would allude to them." He drew another volume from the shelf. "Why do you hide them? Surely you're not ashamed of them."

"No," she sighed, "But, these days, people don't recognize their worth. They don't understand them. Most of the people I know think of these lesser classics as silly, old-fashioned fluff, if they know about them at all. They forget – or never noticed – the virtues the stories reinforce, or what lovely illustrations looks like." She leaned back on the cushions. "In a way, they're the reminder of what rightness is supposed to look like. They weren't expensive, but there extremely valuable." She spoke as if something was finally coalescing in her mind, " I guess those books represent my part in trying to preserve civilization. And I won't have scoffing louts making fun of them." By now, Threepio was flipping through another volume.

"'My treasure chest is filled with gold. Gold, gold, gold."'Gold of the sunset, gold of the dawn. . .. .'" He read.

"'Gold of the shower trees on my lawn.  
>Poet's gold and artist's gold.<br>Gold which cannot be bought or sold. . .2'" Miss Laurie quoted.

"Gold." He finished, lost in thought. "It isn't great poetry, but pleasant. My own casing aside, I've always enjoyed that one. Memory is the only prize a droid is sometimes allowed to keep. Oh, I'm sorry," he exclaimed suddenly. "Did you say something?"

"Nothing important," she laughed, then smiled nostalgically, as the droid returned the book to its place. "I expect I'll pass those books on someday. I just hope I can find someone to pass them on _to_."

* * *

><p>I think Master Luke is the kindest master Artoo and I ever had. He never orders us about; he always asks us. Why, there was one instance when I was badly damaged. Any sensible master would have left me to my fate, but Master Luke risked his own life to bring me to safety."<p>

"He sounds like a wonderful man."  
>"He is. There isn't anything I wouldn't do for him!"<p>

"Now that's a tribute wort having. I'd like to meet him myself."

"I hope you can; I'm sure you would like him." Then Threepio's shoulders drooped. "But I don't know how I'll ever get back to him."

"Well," Miss Laurie began thoughtfully, "I don't know the training team's schedule, but do you know where he is? Maybe we're going to that system."

"I wish I _did_ know."

"Well, do you know where he _might_ be?"

"I've been thinking about that. The bases at Hoth and Tantor aren't completed yet, so he's probably at Threnet or Chenoo. Chenoo is more centrally located, so I suspect that was the rendezvous point. But he might as well be on the other side of the galaxy, for all the good _that_ does," he concluded, looking at the filet lace rendering of the Imperial emblem hanging over the woman's head.

_The Imperial emblem!_

_He had just told an Imperial officer the location of four Alliance bases!_

In a panic, his gaze darted to the woman. Maybe she hadn't noticed. Her attitude had not changed: she was still curled under the lacy throw, doodling in her sketchbook. He stepped closer to the sofa.

"What are you writing, Miss Laurie?"

She jumped, and Threepio realized what this tete a tete had really been. She looked at the sketchpad for a moment, then up at him, and handed him the pad. Among the dancing men and geometric figures were names

"Swana." A line had been drawn through it. Down the side of the page ran "Wookiee" and "Corellian."  
>"Alderaan," repeated several times,<br>"Leia," circled, with a crown over it. An arrow connected it to "Alderaan."  
>"Master Luke," with a star on either end. . .<p>

_What have I said! What have I done!_

She pulled the pad from his unresisting fingers. By now she was standing, facing him. "I don't think you've done as badly as you think you have. I have to report to Colonel Jon, but wait for me here. And don't do anything desperate until I get back." He watched her walk, a little unsteadily, past the curtained entry, and heard the door to her quarters close behind her. He stared at the quivering curtain as it came to rest.

_Merciful power, what have I done! How could this have happened? How could I have been so deceived? I was so careful – but now! She tricked me! Why didn't I stop her? I had the evidence right in my hands! I should have ripped it to shreds, and – and silenced that treacherous_. . .

No.

No, he knew he couldn't do it. The lieutenant had not been treacherous, and she had not deceived him. She never concealed what she was doing. He had watched her write for – how long had they been talking? The Imperial emblem had been in plain sight the whole time. And how many warnings had she given?

_I probably shouldn't ask…_

Don't tell me…

Life is full of fortunate indiscretions and happy disasters…

Fortunate indiscretions, indeed! She had as much as told him what she was doing. And he had just rambled on and on.. . He sank onto the sofa.

_"Someday, Goldenrod, that big mouth is going to get you into trouble."_

Captain Solo had no idea how right he was. Only it was he, and the Princess, and Artoo, and Master Luke – oh, and Master Luke – who were going to suffer for it. He struck his palm with his fist, then buried his faceplate in his hands.  
><em>The only deceiver was myself. I fooled myself into thinking I could outsmart an Imperial interrogation<em>.

But Miss Laurie's illness had been real enough; and she had appeared genuinely interested. A droid might have trouble detecting sarcasm, but, by changes in voice patterns, he could generally recognize a lie. She had told no lies during the – the interrogation. Could it be that she _had_ been genuinely interested? And revealed her knowledge because she was a loyal officer? But what did it matter now. _If only I had been loyal enough to keep silent. If only Captain Solo's aim had been better! _As he reflected, he knew his reasons for regret had started much earlier.

"_You feckless imitation of a clumsy imbecile! You ruined my presentation!"_

The elderly Princess's accusation echoed again in his memory. _If only I hadn't been gawking at the architecture at the Fealty Ceremony! Careless blundering has been the theme of my days. And why did I blunder? Because I was thinking of my own splendid position, instead of attending to the duties I was to perform_. He raised his head and looked around the familiar, terrible room. It was too late for "If Onlys." Why had that interrogation been so successful? The lieutenant had merely made him comfortable, thrown him a few blandishments, and set him to talking about himself: his favorite subject. Pride brought him to this state.

And now the Alliance was on the verge of annihilation, because of the damnable vanity of one third-rate translator unit

"And I was so proud," he thought, gazing down mournfully at his mismatched casing, "With so little to be proud of!"

"Poor Ferguson!" The unexpected voice startled him. Miss Laurie must have returned without his seeing her. She stood next to him. "It all started out so well, and ended so badly."

Threepio made no reply.

"As it turns out, you didn't do so badly. It seems that Intelligence already found evidence there were Rebel bases at those sites. So, you see, you didn't really reveal anything. You merely confirmed some suspicions.

Threepio stared at his feet. After a moment, the woman continued.

"For myself, I'm just as glad you _did_ say something. I didn't know until now, but Major Jon told me that, if you didn't say anything useful today, the Director had given orders to have you remanded for analysis. And in the process, you would most likely have been destroyed."

Threepio spoke slowly. "It would have been better if I had,"

Miss Laurie leaned over him, and said very softly, "And if you had, they would surely be lost." Threepio looked at her in confusion. "It's all in your ROM," she continued. "All the investigators have to do is process and analyze it. It would take time, but they'd do it." He seemed to sink deeper into the cushions. "Things you don't even know are important could be the very pieces they need to make sense of the intelligence they do have. . .and to act on it." She added, " And your central processor has no self-destruct mechanism. I checked your make and model."

"_Oh, merciful power! If only Captain Solo hadn't missed!"_

"If you are destroyed, they are destroyed. But as long as you function, you can protect what you know. Plans, operatives, supply lines, outposts; .things infinitely more important than the location of a couple of bases Intelligence already knew about."

Threepio tried to make sense of her implications, but could not. "Why – why are you telling me this?" he finally managed to stammer.

The woman seated herself before him on the low table. The intensity of her expression was almost frightening. "You may wonder what I'm getting out of this," she said through gritted teeth, in an effort to keep from trembling. "I'll tell you. Jon promised me faithfully that, if I could get some useful information out of you, he would get me any droid I wanted to help me in the library. The droid I've chosen is you."

He stared at her incredulously. "It sounds crazy, doesn't it?" She went on. "Maybe it is; but you know the routine. You're plainly good at it. And as long as you're functioning, you can protect what you know. Jon won't like it, but he keeps his promises. He'll go along with it. And," she concluded with a toss of her head, "There's always a chance you might still say something useful."

"Do you really think I would?" Threepio answered coldly.

Determination had returned to the woman's face. She glanced toward the doorway, then leaned forward, and, in a voice lower than a whisper, said, "I promise you you won't; but as long as they think you might, they won't interfere." She leaned back, and said, aloud, "Will you do it?"

Threepio considered her offer. " But what security would I have, that the investigators wouldn't simply grab me off at a later date? You said I was the only humanoid droid on the ship."  
>The woman looked blank. "Yes. I hadn't thought of that." Suddenly, she looked up. "Just a minute. I'd almost forgotten, but there is one other droid on the ship. I had forgotten because it's deactivated. I think it's a model similar to you, too." She explained, "About the same time I joined the training unit, a droid was assigned to help with actuarial analysis and risk assessment. The rumor was that the director tried to get it to falsify some information for a report, and, when it wouldn't do it, its central processor crashed. We've put in for a memory reload a couple of times, but nothing ever came of it."<p>

She went on. "The thing is, he has the same casing as the drones. It's an awful thing to suggest," she admitted, "but in that casing, you'd look like just one more unit among many."

Threepio tried to find an alternative – any alternative – but Miss Laurie's words haunted him: "If you are destroyed, they are destroyed." He looked at his hands, one clenched around the other. Suddenly, he raised his head to face the woman. "If this plan is found out, what will happen to you?"

Evidently, that possibility had not occurred to her. She paused a long moment before answering, "I expect I'll be killed. As will Jon, and whichever technician replaces your casing." Then she met the droid's gaze. "I can see what I'm offering: a living death among the enemy, where a misstep could mean disaster to all concerned. Destruction might be more comfortable. But with it will come the certain knowledge that your friends will suffer for it. What will you do?"

Threepio paused, though not for indecision. Still, the words came hard. "It seems I have no choice." He straightened in resignation. "How soon can this casing be replaced?"

Miss Laurie smiled, but there was sadness in her eyes. "I'll talk to Jon about the arrangements." She rose to her feet, still somewhat unsteadily. "I'll be back as soon as he gives me an answer." She walked toward the doorway, then turned back to look at him. "Don't feel too badly," she said sympathetically. "They'll never know what happened. You'll never have to see them again."

The words had been kindly meant, but they pierced what Captain Solo's blast had missed. Threepio heard the outer door close behind her. He sat motionless, as the noises of the corridor filtered into the quiet room. The sharp tap of footsteps still hurried to and fro. Voices murmured, an occasional housekeeping unit twittered, and under it all, the distant thunder of the great reactors continued to rumble. He listened for a long time to the now-familiar sounds. Finally, he echoed softly,  
>"I'll never see them again!"<p>

* * *

><p>Notes:<p>

1Blanding, Don. _Vagabond's house_ Dodd, Mead & Co., 1928.

2Don Blandings. "Gold," in _The Vagabond House_ (1928)


	5. Chapter 5

V – Prisoner of Conscience

Do you know what it is to be a ghost? To live in emptiness between heaven and earth, with nothing for comfort but your bitter memories?  
><em> The Canterville Ghost<em>

Oh, it isn't fair! Here we are, three desperate men who will stop at nothing to escape from Devil's Island, and we have to fall in with nice people!  
><em> We're No Angels<em>

* * *

><p>Replacing the casing was a simple process. Miss Laurie walked with him down to the maintenance bay. Al, the portly technician Threepio had met before must have been briefed on the plan, because the pieces of a drone's covering were already stacked on a worktable. He set to work without any direction from the lieutenant. As he popped the rivets, she stood with her back to the proceedings, asking questions about droid repair until Al told her to go away.<p>

Threepio took mournful comfort in the thought that he had done well. He had only flinched twice: once when the first rivet was removed, and then when the technician pulled off his faceplate. Before long, as if by alchemy, the dark pile had turned to gold, and what had once shone like the dawn now glowed like a moonless nightt. The drone casing fit depressingly well.  
>Al sent him back to the library, but Threepio took his time getting there. He did not want to see anyone. Or, more accurately, he didn't wish anyone to see <em>him<em>. As he passed the reflective panels in the corridor, he looked the other way. When he finally did present himself to Miss Laurie, she had turned in her swivel chair to meet him with an eager smile. As she surveyed his new appearance, the light faded from her eyes. Finally, she said, "Well…at least it all matches now."

He could hardly fault her lack of enthusiasm. When he finally did make a close inspection of the new casing, it reminded him of a villainous beetle. The photosensors were narrower, and appeared to be frowning. His vocabulator was housed in a short proboscis that resembled a cross between a canine muzzle and an insect's jaws. He couldn't bear to look at himself for more than a moment. He hoped never to become the character that faceplate implied.

The voice, too, had to change. Threepio adopted a sound pattern similar to that of the drones: shrill, flat, and nondescript . When he tried it out on Miss Laurie, she agreed it completed the disguise, but then added with a sigh, "To have a voice like that, and have to use a voice like this."

With his altered appearance, and the change in his status, he expected the training staff's attitude toward him to change as well. It did not. The instructors and students did not even know he was there. Miss Laurie, however, only grew more considerate. Her sympathy and encouragement grated on his own guilt and remorse. It was maddening.

Or could it be a means to coax more details from him? Miss Laurie had said he would make no more revelations about the Alliance – but how could she give such assurances? Threepio wondered how reliable her promises could be in so sensitive a matter. He would have to be exceptionally cautious. But he had tried to be careful before, and look what had come of it.

Then, comfort with his surroundings had made him careless. Could it happen again? "Of course it could," the droid thought ruefully. One comfort – a questionable one – was his appearance. It was a constant reminder of his weakness. But Miss Laurie was a clever conversationalist. If she got him started again…And if he forgot himself again…_Oh, my! Whatever shall I do!_ How good was her promise that he would never again say anything useful.

He soon found out.

She had just finished relating a humorous but complicated anecdote about teaching her brother to drive.  
>"Honestly, it looked like a comedy routine! He asked if he should back up, so I said 'Go ahead.' So he did1'"<p>

"He backed up?"

"No, he went ahead: smack into a post! Happily, it didn't do much damage, but Father wasn't too happy. When Mother heard, she couldn't stop laughing."

"It sounds like the confusion we had when all the personnel in our unit was required to learn how to handle ultra-grade jet speeders. It ws when we were on –"

"Say, Ferguson, could you hand me a pencil?

"Certainly." He pulled one out of the cracked mug sitting on the workstation. "As I say, it was back when…"

He turned to face Miss Laurie. As he did, he caught her pointed gaze. The he recalled when he had last heard that request.

_That fatal phrase again!_

"Why, isn't that odd," he said with forced surprise. "I suddenly can't remember a thing! I'm sorry."

"So am I; it sounded like a great story. Well," she ssaid carelessley, "If you do remember anything, I'll be around all day." In a low voice, she added, "Maybe you'll remember some day when there aren't any pencils."

So her promise of enforced silence was sincere. But she was also listening. He was sure she would report any intelligence he might reveal; yet she would do what she could to keep him from revealing any. He wondered anxiously about his tendency to make thoughtlessly truthful observations.– What was it that Captain Solo had called him? A guileless bigmouth? Then what would he do? What would _she_ do…?

The afternoon was quiet, and the library was empty except for the two of them. He had been standing by the book cart, sorting volumes for reshelving. As he reached for a book on the table, he winced. From her workstation, Miss Laurie looked over at him with concern.

"Are you all right?"

"Oh…it's nothing,' he said, waving away her anxiety, while working his left shoulder. "I had an accident once and got some sand – I mean contamination – in the shoulder joint. Sometimes it slips its way into a bad spot."

"Oh dear!" She watched him, distressed by his distress. "If it's anything like my creaky knees, I'm truly sorry to hear it. Say! Maybe mech maintenance could clean it out for you."  
>The suggestion had been kind, so Threepio decided against informing her that the Alliance's most remote outposts were better equipped than the <em>Vigilant<em>'s mech maintenance bay. Instead, he said, "It's hardly worth your notice. There!" He shrugged "it's gone."

"I'm still sorry.' She turned back to the monitor.

"I've learned to expect such things. A droid's days are a litany of trouble," he complained. "Sometimes I wonder what I might have done to deserve it." He caught himself before elaborating further. Although the Alliance had not been the topic, he should have known better than to vent his personal ire to a loyal Imperial – or any other master, for that matter.

"Maybe you stepped on a duck," she said, without looking up.

With an echoing thump, he dropped the book on the table. "Really, Miss Laurie, your logic baffles me!"

She laughed, and swung around in her chair. "I'm sorry. It's an allusion to a very old, and very silly joke. I'll have to tell it to you sometime1." She smiled nostalgically as she added, "I've always rather liked it, though: it is such a good reminder of how one person's blessing can be someone else's curse."

The book was forgotten. 'Now why would you say that/"

"Well –" she weighed her answer "Maybe I shouldn't tell you this, but you're the best thing that's happened since I joined the training team. Under any other circumstances, I doubt you would have had anything to do with me. My family was lower middle-class, my behavior is rustic but hearty2, most of my civilian clothes are second-hand…"

Threepio wasn't sure whether he should feel hurt or flattered. He recognized she had just called him, in essence, a snob, yet she had meant it as a compliment.

"Oh, I don't know,' he interrupted. "Sartorial excellence was hardly one of my last master's priorities, but I would have been proud to be seen with him anywhere."

"Was that before or after he became your master?"

His answer to the question gave him pause. Would he have been as proud of Master Luke if he had not rescued him and Artoo from the Jawas? Or if, in the desert, he had not thought less of his own safety, and more of the droid's welfare? Or, in fact, Threepio wondered, if it had not been for the circumstances, whether he would have taken any notice at all of the young farmer? Miss Laurie's backhanded compliment was fast becoming an unintended rebuke.

She had returned to peering at her monitor. "No," she said ,with resigned aloofness, 'If, through some miracle, we had met, I'd have been such a provincial nonentity that you wouldn't even know I was there." Abruptly, she added, "Not that I mind. You wouhd have had important people to help, and mightier matters to attend to."  
>"There are no matters mightier than civility," Threepio muttered, feeling ashamed of himself.<p>

The two worked on in silence. At length, Miss Laurie spoke.

"Say, Ferguson…"

He raised his head, to see her watching him.

"You said something about your last master. You know," she pointed out, "Nobody here owns you. As far as you are concerned, he still is your master. As far as that goes, you're as much your own master as anyone else is on the ship."

'Thank you."

In a way he couldn't define, the woman's declaration gave him a confidence he had not experienced since taking on the onyx casing. He wondered if he would be able to do right by his master – by either of them.

Yes. She may have been a loyal officer, but Miss Laurie certainly held liberal views about the the boundaries of loyalty. Threepio wondered about the length to which she could be trusted…

On another occasion, he observed her talking to a tall recruit. He was an intimidating sight in his helmet, but, without it, he was an earnest young man, with a kind face made grave by responsibility. He thought he recognized him as one of the troopers he ha seen, so long ago, in the rec room. Miss Laurie was speaking in a low voice.

". . I would think you'd be able to do more good if you didn't, but you know better than I what's best. Whatever you decide…" Her sigh was one of resolve, not regret. "…To your commanders, you may be just one more trooper, but to the community you will serve and protect, you are a champion in shining white armor. Always remember that."

The young man looked troubled. The older woman placed her hands on his shoulders, as she added, "I didn't say it would be easy. But we're called to be light and salt in a dark and bitter world. She smiled up at him. "Whatever you do, I'll be thinking of you. What's your name?"

"RK-1152"

"I said _your name_, not your operating number. Always remember you have a name." As he spoke, she scrawled it on a notepad. "Always remember the people you serve have names, too."

Later, Threepio confided to her what he had overheard. Miss Laurie did not seem troubled by the news.

"But do you think it was wise," he inquired, "to take down that boy's name?"

"If he does what I think he's going to do, it's safer than taking down anything else about him. The Central Command is good with numbers, but has a terrible time with names."

"But–" his voice dropped to a whisper "–Were't you going to report him/"

The woman looked insulted. "Report what? He hasn't done anything . And if he does do something, it will be too late anyway." She crumpled the piece of notepaper as she tore it from the pad. "But I will be thinking of him." She dropped the wad in the waste container. "But, between us, though, it's nice of you to be concerned for his safety. He's a sweet kid."

A strange woman, who turned insults into compliments, who cheated to insure someone else would win, who would consider a confiscated translator unit – what had she said? – the best thing that had happened to the team. Why did she do it? What would she gain from it? Secrecy was the key to power in that shipboard society, yet her conduct was so open. Might not that generosity of spirit get her into trouble? A terrible thought occurred to Threepio. What if some fatal revelation came, not from his carelessness, but from hers…?

An instructor was parked in a corner, making longhand notes on for a fresh curriculum. A couple of students, for want of anything better to do, thumbed through old magazines. Miss Laurie was occupied with adding some new reports to the catalog of available materials when the call came.

"Mobile Team Unit Training Library: may I help you?

He thought he detected the voice of the Director saying, "Laurie, come up here, please – " He knew that tone meant nothing good. He looked up in time to see the woman shoot an uneasy glance in his direction.

"Yes, sir?

"– I want to talk to you about that drone you're using." The droid watched as her eyes grew large, and her face pale. In a choked voice, she replied,

"Yes, sir. I'm on my way , , ,Yes, I will. Goodbye." Awkwardly, she returned the handset to its base, and fumbled for a writing tablet. She rose, steadying herself with the desk. Once she had recovered her equilibrium, she walked briskly to the door. As she did, she passed the table where Threepio was occupied. What she said was so low, and so quick, he wasn't positive he understood her, but it sounded like, "Lose yourself! I'll hold out as long as I can." Before he could ask her to repeat it, she was out the door.  
>Lose myself? Hold out? What could she mean? It was obviously a serious matter, though. He followed her out of the library. He had intended to ask her for an explanation, but, by the time he reached the passage, she was gone. He wondered again, "Lose myself?"<p>

"_I'll hold out as long as I can._" – Oh, my! How could he have been so stupid! Obviously, the Director had learned his secret! _And Miss Laurie was not expecting to come back!_ Frantically, he looked around the empty hallway. Where could he hide? Any opportune spot would be easily discovered during a search. The only other solution was to hide in plain sight: to mingle with the drone pool. Assuming a purposeful air, he made his way down the corridor.

Across from the maintenance bay was the dimly-lighted room where the drones were prepped for service, or stowed while not in use. A narrow aisle down the center of it provided access to the rows of charging stalls. Threepio managed to slip inside, undetected. No master was on duty. The only other occupant at the moment was a single, inattentive drone. It stood, stiff and silent, in one of the stations nearest the door. The other units had evidently been put to work. The monitor beside the solitary unit indicated its charging cycle was complete, and its memory ready to accept a download – drones had no long-term memory storage, only random access memory and a central processor. Any information a drone might need to perform a task would be loaded at the time of its assignment. The motionless figure, who shared his stern appearance, frightened the droid. He took up a position at one of the stalls toward the back of the room, copying the other unit's rigid pose; and hoping that no one would take a close look at him. He was careful to avoid contact with the couplings dangling from the sides of the station. A charge, combined with his existing power supply, could be devastating to his circuitry; and a memory flush was a rational droid's greatest terror. Ths shadowy quiet was restful, but far from soothing.

As he waited, he wondered if the best policy might not be to turn himself in. The consequences, for him, of course, would be fatal; but it might protect Miss Laurie, and the other conspirators, from further punishment. But it might also mean the end of the Alliance. Or it might be too late to save either. The hammer of Imperial justice may already have fallen on both the compromised bases, and his well-meaning protectors. It was an irresolvable dilemma. Threepio knew that, whatever he did, beings he cared about would suffer, but which would suffer more? He didn't know what to do. So he waited.

He was startled out of his fearful reverie by a shout.

"Hey, Ferguson!"  
>Threepio didn't move. It was Miss Laurie's voice, but was she acting under her own volition? Or was she being used as a decoy to lure him into exposing himself. Her voice had not sounded stressed, but, where she was concerned, her lighthearted manner could easily mask any anxiety.<p>

She squinted as she stepped from the brightly-lighted hall into the chamber's twilight. She looked curiously at the drone, and shook her head. She scanned the room, yet, when she caught sight of him, she did not call out. Instead, she moved quietly down the aisle, and slit up next to him.

"So, Unit Ten-Oh-Two-Forty-Eight, are you sufficiently charged?" Threepio had not dared to turn to look at her, but he could tell from her voice she was trying very hard to keep from laughing.

"Yes, ma'am. I am ready for service," he responded with dronelike indifference.

"Then walk this way." She turned, and Threepio followed her out of the drone prep room, down the corridor, and on to the bank of elevators. She pressed the panel, and, moments later, they were descending to the storage decks.

Her suppressed laughter finally gave way. "Oh, Mister Ferguson! You are safer now than you probably ever will be!"

Her reaction confused, but did not surprise, the droid. "But what happened? I was certain you were lost! And how did you know it was I"

"I figured the only likely place for you to hide would be in plain sight; and the only place where you'd blend in was with the drones. Besides," she gigled, "the probes weren't hooked up to anything." Then Miss Laurie smiled ruefully. "But I was sure your cover was blown, until I got to the Director's office. One of the other mobile teams wanted some of our lesson plans. He was mad because he hates giving up our curricula. But – get this – the other director needs them in Hykogi!" She leaned against the wall and pointed at him for emphasis. "Would you believe what he wanted was for you to translate them?: She choked back her giggles. "You did so well with the standards that now the whole Mobile Team program needs you! Nobody will _dare_ meddle wit you now!"

Threepio's relief was quickly empered with remourse. He was safe, but safe as a prisoner and collaborator. Still, it meant his friends were also safe – at least from injury he might do. But something bothered him.

"How did the Director know I was still making those translations? Does he know…"  
>"No." The woman shook her head. Her manner grew solemn, but reassuring. "Jon told him the programming had finally come through for that other, broken droid. The Director decided that it should be loaded into the network so the whole drone pool could use it. Just now, I told him that that kind of programming is licensed for use by only one unit. So he thinks you're it." Threepio thought about this alias that had been created for him. "The funny part is I didn't have to lie, either. That kind of programming <em>is<em> licensed for use by only one unit. And – here's another miracle – the programming really _did_ come through, and really _is_ on the network!" She smiled in wonder at the remarkable set of coincidences. "Who'd hav \e thought it could work out like that!"

"Who'd have thought, indeed!"

The elevator slowed to a stop. They stepped out onto one of the decks of the ship's hold. Threepio remembered seeing the library's storage unit on this level, that time Miss Laurie took him on a tour of the ship. He looked inquiringly at the woman.

Although his current faceplate was even less expressive than the one he had relinquished, she seemed to understand. "I think I moved those lesson plans down to the storage unit. We'll have to look for them."  
>As they made their way down the corridor, Miss Laurie related how she had wheedled one of the larger bays, over the Director's objections, adding with a chuckle, "He believes unused documents should be disposed of instead of archived. I bet he's glad now that <em>I<em> didn't!" She stopped before one, and placed her hand on the entry pad. The door mechanism moaned a little. She kicked it, and hatch slid aside.

She activated the lights, and Threepio saw – well, wheat he had expected to see: more dreary shelves. Miss Laurie exhaled slowly. "We're looking for a box that says 'Use of Force' and one that says 'Ethics.' They have to be here someplace." She began to scan the storage crates for a familiar label.

Threepio joined her, but couldn't help but ask,"I must say, though, you've managed to recover your good humor quickly. When you left the library, you were positively green."

"As soon as the Director said he needed you, I knew everything would be all right," she said. She pulled over another storage box, sitting by itself on the floor, and stood on it to reach the upper shelves. "It reminded me of something I'd half forgotten, that, in a way, insures all our safety. One interesting thing about being part of the peace officer training team is that we're so inconsequential, especially in the middle of the civil war, that nobody important pays any attention to us. It's like being at the bottom of the ocean. The storm may rage above, but here, things are quiet."

"Quiet? This close to the main reactor? I can hardley hear myself think!"

"I wasn't referring to that, but I like the sound of the reactor. It's like a great organ, playing bass chords. Harmony to some mighty melody." She listened to its changing tone, and began to sing:

_Time, like an ever-rolling stream, bears all its sons away;  
>They fly, forgotten, as a dream dies at the opening day<em>3_._

She smiled at Threepio. "See?"

He stared incredulously for a long moment, then blurted, "How did _you_ ever get in the starfleet?"

The question had puzzled him since their first meeting. Her whimsey, her incomprehensible cheerfulness, her unconventional outlook ran contrary to everything that an Imperial officer should be. Even his impatient astonishment seemed lost on her. She looked out the door, then surveyed the corridor for listeners. Assured they were alone, she manually slid the door closed. "Now that's an interesting story – " She glanced toward the hatch. "– And this is a good place to talk about it because nobody can hear us You might find it especially entertaining, because I very nearly ended up joining the Rebellion."

"The Rebellion! Why didn't you?"

"First you have to know how I got here. About the time the civilian training unit I worked for was disbanded – and I'll admit I had already been offered this position – I was putting together a headline service for my library users. I would go through a lot of news sources, and pick out the articles most appropriate to their interests. Anyhow, one day, in some obscure news service from one of the outer systems, I ran across a little notice that made me so mad that, if I had known how, I'd have joined up with a Rebel cell right them!

"It must have been quite an event."

"Maybe because it wasn't big news was why – well, look at me! – why, even now, I'm so angry I can't see straight." She leaned against the shelving unit, flushed and indignant, trying to retain her balance. "It probably wouldn't have been given much attention, even if Alderaan hadn't blown up about the same time."

Threepio echoed faintly,"Alderaan!"

"All it was, was the story of a little farm family that had bought some droid that had been stolen from some Imperial labor pool. When a squad of troopers showed up looking for it, and the droid wasn't there, they shot up the place." She struck the shelf with the flat of her hand. "There was no reason for that! There was no _need_ for that! All they had to do was thank the people for finding the unit, give them a big reward – the Empire certainly has the credit to have done it – and either wait for droid to turn up or go looking for it. The troopers would have had their droid, the farm family would have been able to replace it, with enough cash left over to feel good about the experience, and everybody's happy."

"Except the droids," Threepio murmured. In a louder voice, he said, "What made you change your mind about the Alliance?"

"It occurred to me that the Rebels' terrorist acts against these goon squads wouldn't solve the problem. Those men would only be replaced with others just as bad. But if they could be caught early, and either trained properly, or kept out of the service entirely, it could stop these things from happening. And, if I took the position I'd been offered with the Mobile Law Enforcement Training Team, I _could_ help change the conduct – and the minds – of the law enforcers." She paused. "This was about the time the Senate was dissolved. The only central government left _was_ the military. The only way _I _could see to restore law and order was to become part of the government structure. So, I accepted the commission, packed up the training library, and– " she concluded with a smile and a shrug, "– Here I am." Her smile faded as she reflected, "And a day doesn't go by when I don't think of that farm family."

"And the Jawas," the droid added softly. "Do you think you've made any progress?" he asked.

"I don't know, but I'm trying to set a good example. I do think moral training is more productive than blowing up policemen. So far as I can see, the problem isn't the Empire itself, but the people misusing it, starting with the Emperor himself. He must have lost his mind to have smashed the Senate!" She scowled at the recollection. "The current officials are using their positions for personal gain, instead of for public service and civil liberty. If I can help restore that attitude, my time won't have been wasted." She laughed ironically, "And the joke is, all their power-grabbing isn't gaining them a thing! Everybody hates them, they hate everybody, they aren't having any fun. All they're getting out of it is a brief ego trip, which they sure can't take with them."

Again, Threepio looked at her a long moment before answering. "Your ambition does you credit, but I wonder if you have any idea what obstacles you're facing."  
>"What do you mean?"<p>

"You know the Empire destroyed Alderaan."

She stared at him, wide-eyed, as if she hadn't understood him.

"Didn't you know the Empire destroyed Alderaan?"

Without changing expression, she shook her head.

"I saw the remains myself. Princess Leia was forced to watch them do it. She still has nightmares."

By now, the woman was looking unseeingly at the floor. She shivered. "That poor girl," she murmured.

"The droid for which that farm family died hadn't been stolen from any labor pool. He had escaped an attack on an ship, under diplomatic protection, with the plans for that horrific device that had the power to terminate an entire planet."

The woman slumped against the shelving unit.

"The Alliance was able to use the droid's information to destroy that Death Star. But most of those who grasp at such hideous power are still in authority, mentoring others like them. Seriously, how much influence do you think you'll have on that kind of decadence/"

"I don't know." she whispered. As an afterthought, she added, "I'm glad the droid got away."

"I hope he's safe," Threepio said quietly. He looked down at the woman, who had sunk to a sitting position on a box, with her head in her hands. He rested his hand on her shoulder.

"I felt the same way when I found out" Still deeply shaken, she looked up at him. He said gently,

"Welcome to the storm."

* * *

><p>Notes:<p>

1In the event you haven't heard it; the story goes that three ladies were driving down the road. They hit a slick spot, the car went out of control, hitting a tree, and they were all killed. When they got to Heaven, the angels greeted them warmly, showed them around, and told them they could walk anywhere they wanted, but not to step on a duck. There were a number of ducks wandering around, so they were careful. Finally, though, one of the girls stepped on a duck. At that moment, an angel showed up with a skinny bald guy with buck teeth and big ears. The girl was chained to the man, and was told that they would be chained together for a thousand years. They went off, and the two girls walked around and enjoyed Heaven. After a while, in a careless moment, one of the girls stepped on a duck. At that moment, an angel showed up with a dumpy little fellow with an adenoidal voice and an irritating laugh. They, too, were chained together for a thousand years. The remaining lady walked around, enjoying Heaven, when all of a sudden, an angel showed up with a tall, muscular, gorgeous fellow with a pleasing manner and all his hair. They were chained together, and were told they would be together for a thousand years. The lady was delighted, and exclaimed, "What did I do to deserve this!" The man replied, "I don't know about you, my dear, but I stepped on a duck."

2Gilbert, William S. _Iolanthe_, Act 1

3Watts, Isaac. _O God, Our Help in Ages Past_ (circa 1719)


	6. Chapter 6

VI – The Robot Girl with the Wooden Leg

The mind will, in its worst despair, still ponder o'er the past,  
>On moments of delight that were too beautiful to last,<br>To long departed years extend its visions with them flown;  
>for mem'ry is the only friend that grief can call its own,1<p>

* * *

><p>The days passed quietly, steadly. Of course there were incidents that stirred the placid river of time, such as when Major Jon and the Director faced off about attendance policy, or when the staff's pay was delayed, but the training continued, as scheduled. And Miss Laurie kept helping people find information, whether they wanted it or not.<p>

Who would have thought that being in the middle of a civil war could be so dull.

Threepio had served on starships long enough, though, to know that, when humans get bored, they can be subject to some strange ideas. And he began to wonder about Miss Laurie.

Sometimes, when they walked down the corridor, he would note groups of officers watching them, and then hear muffled laughter in their wake. Sometimes, in the library, he thought he could feel the woman watching him; but when he turned to see, she was looking in another direction. On another occasion, when Major Jon had interrupted him in the midst of some complicated explanation, she interrupted _him_!

"Just a minute! It was Ferguson's turn to talk. It's your turn when he's done." Both he and her commanding officer had stared at her in astonishment. No master would deign to defer to a mechanical, yet she seemed to take such unprecedented civility for granted.

He was thinking of these things one day as he sat with several messenger drones at a staff meeting. Miss Laurie, as she often did, arrived only moments before the meeting was due to begin. He struggled to his feet as she stood in the entry, looking for a seat. Then she breezed into the room with the exclamation, "Be seated, gentlemen; and the rest of you please remain as you are." Later, he realized he had been the only one who had risen. It was time to confront her.

The opportunity soon came – that same day, in fact – during a quiet period while the library was empty.

"Miss Laurie?"

"Uh-hun?" She was peering at her monitor, and didn't look up.  
>"Miss Laurie – I hardly know how to bring this up – but sometimes, on long cruises such as this one, humans occasionally find themselves…I mean, when two beings work in close proximity, sometimes they. . That is to say –"<p>

"You want to know if I find you physically attractive." Miss Laurie concluded for him, without raising her head.

"Well, yes."

"No," she said calmly. "For iron this magnet feels no whim.2" She turned her chair to face him. "I like you, though." Then she returned to her work. "I hope that doesn't embarrass you too much."

It did not, and he apologize for any indelicate suggestion. He felt obliged to add, though, that a long cruise often subjects humans to an unhealthy degree of loneliness.

"But I'm not lonely!"Miss Laurie said.

"I've never seen you fraternize with anyone, aside from the Training Unit or your library users…"

"I haven't much in common with anyone else. Besides , I've…" She trailed off, then eyed him curiously. "Do you have anything planned for tonight?"

A silly question – he never had anything planned, and she knew it – but he could tell she was leading up to something important.

"It's odd you should bring this up today. On this day, two years ago, my mother died…"

_Oh dear! I certainly muffed it this time!_

"… I mark the occasion by setting out the dolls. Would you like to see them?'

He knew what dolls were, but had no idea why Miss Laurie would attach such importance to setting some out. He suddenly pictured the two of them seated at a tiny tea table with a couple of glassy-eyed little friends. Well, if she _was_ getting space-happy, maybe it would be better for him to humor her, than to leave her to, well, the scorn of her colleagues. Well, at least her gaze appeared rational.

"After mess call, come by my quarters. I'll show you another reason why I'm not lonely.'

The sitting room seemed more shadowy than he remembered, but was just as inviting. The pools of light cast by the lamps were like stepping stones to a dream. Miss Laurie had cleared off the low table, and had pulled it toward the center of the room. She smiled as he pushed aside the drape.

"I bet you thought I was a nut when I asked if you wanted to see my dolls. Once you've seen them, you'll probably be sure of it."

"I'll admit I am curious what they might have had to do with the passing of your mother."

"My mother collected dolls," she said, as she pulled a large, flat box out from under the sofa. "A lot of the dolls came from relatives and friends who had no one to pass their doll babies on to, yet wanted them to go to a good home."

Threepio had watched children play with dolls, but until then he had never given any thought to what became of them when days of play were over. "That seems like an odd attitude to take toward a toy."

"That's the thing. They aren't exactly toys: they're substitute children. But they aren't children, either, because they're inanimate objects." Miss Laurie bit her lip. 'I've never thought if it that way before. They're trapped between two worlds." She shrugged. "Well, anyway, when little girls grow up, and have real children to take care of, they don't need the dolls. If those real children don't want to take care of those doll children, a good doll mother is going to try to find a good home for them." She laughed as she removed the tissue paper from the small figures. "My brother and I used to joke that we grew up in a foundling home. A Foundling Home for Orphan Dolls." She propped the dolls against the stacks of books she had placed on the table. "These are the ones I was able to retrieve before the estate was auctioned off."

They were an odd assortment: several with porcelain heads, some molded, some of fabric, and a couple of undetermined composition. One of the cloth dolls – and he noted that it resembled the Aunt Dollie of children's literature – was wearing an eyepatch, to conceal the absence of one of her button eyes. Another doll on whose face the paint had crazed, wore gloves, which only drew attention to the fact that it had only one hand. None of them were untouched by use. Each had its share of chips, gouges or makeshift repairs. They huddled together, smiling earnestly.

Threepio observed, "They appear to have seen hard use in their day."

"They've been loved." Miss Laurie picked up one of the china–headed dolls, and turned it over. The painted hair on the back of its head had been worn white. "A doll doesn't get markings like this from sitting on a shelf. This comes from being carried around, or put to bed every night, or being seated at tea parties." She held the doll up to her face. "This is a doll who has lived." She looked back at the faces on the table. "They do look rather like refugees, don't them? In a sense, they are. I couldn't redeem any of the valuable dolls, but these had the best stories, which – as far as I'm concerned – makes them more valuable than the ones people would pay money for. This one, for instance." She held out the china doll. This time, Threepio noticed that it had no nose. "Mother found her at a doll market, with a very low asking price. When she asked why she was so cheap, the dealer pointed out that the doll had a broken nose. My mother had answered, "Well, none of my friends are perfect,' when up spoke the dealer's helper. _She_ said, "Gnew gnow, yat's wryte! And yits good do yave a doll yat yildren gnan yandle and look yat.'" Threepio stared at her in surprise. Miss Laurie had affected a startling speech impediment to quote the dealer's helper. She continued in her own voice. "The lady had the same affliction as the doll! Mother couldn't get her money out fast enough." She returned the doll to the table. "And you don't lose your nose by sitting around just looking pretty, either. She was the one who would get passed around when Mother gave talks on doll care."

She proceeded to describe, and explain the history of, each of the other small waifs: how her mother had acquired it, how its wounds had been repaired, what function it had served in the collection. Finally, she came to the oddest doll of all.

It was the kind of doll a little girl would dress in stylish gowns, and imagine how someday she would look in a similar outfit; except its head was the only human part of her anatomy. Her droidlike body had been formed to look as if it were made of some impossible pink metal. She wore a scanty tutu and a friendly smile, as she sat on a little wooden chair. Her strangest feature, however, was one of her legs. From the knee down, it was made of wood. The droid eagerly awaited an explanation.

"Mother found her in a jumble box at a junk sale, and bought her for a pittance. Her dress alone was worth more than her asking price. But she _was_ missing part of her leg, so nobody wanted her."

"She has a kind face. What's her name?"

"Well," Miss Laurie hesitated, "We always called her Eileen."

"Very pretty. Was it intended to honor someone in particular?"

"Not exactly. When you're missing part of your leg and try to stand, what do you do?"

"Well, I le. ." He stopped in disgust. "You should be ashamed of yourself!"  
>The woman nodded. "But it is a pretty name. Anyway, my grandfather was a whittler…"<p>

"A what?"

"He liked to carve things out of wood: he whittled. Mother asked him if he would make a wooden leg for her, and so he did. He also made the chair she's sitting on."

Threepio took a closer look. It was an intricately carved rocker, with curious figures cut into the wood of the headrest and arms.

"In a way, Eileen is the most valuable doll of all. Nobody wanted her; she was broken, her clothes were worth more than she was. But Mother picked her out and cleaned her up, and Grandpa repaired her. The family cared for her: she's part of it now." Miss Laurie set the doll back in her chair back on the table. "She reminds me where I came from. Who I came from."

Threepio scanned the silent crowd on the table. They still appeared shabby, but there was a dignity in their shabbiness; even a little defiance. The whims of time had battered them, but it was clear from their happy expressions that their injuries did not trouble them. They seemed confident in filling their role as dolls; a confidence founded in – could it be love? A love that had repaired their damage, that honored their purpose, and respected them for their purpose's sake? He watched the woman as she straightened the cap on a bisque-headed baby doll. Strange how some toys could become so real.

"Your doll family holds a lot of happy memories."

She smiled. "Memories of the past, and hopes for the future: what can be more precious to a person than those!"

"Memories are very precious .to a droid, too. They are the only things we can call our own – if we're allowed to keep them."

Miss Laurie frowned with interest, "_Allowed_ to keep them?"

"One of the surest ways to terrify a droid is to threaten its memory. A programming error, a processor crash, a displeased master's order for a memory flush. Our memories can all be taken away in a moment. Or they can be manipulated."

"Manipulated?" Miss Laurie gazed at him with concerned curiosity.

Threepio paused. "I'm not sure I can explain this clearly; but, somehow, I think you will understand it." Slowly, he began. "A droid can be ordered to forget things, or to misinterpret information. For instance, on my last shipboard assignment, we carried – how can I explain this safely? – we had a very important passenger. At one point, the ship was attacked. Now, before the attack, I knew who she was; and I knew who she was after the danger had passed; but in the midst of the danger, I did not recognize her. Later, I remembered that the captain had ordered the droid pool to forget her identity, in the event of capture. So, we did." He gave the impression of a sigh, as he recalled the flickering blue image of Leia Organa, projecting in the cluttered workroom; and being unable to name her. "Sometimes, I wonder why I haven't been forced to forget more."

Miss Laurie was still frowning intently. "If you had been ordered to forget about that passenger, how were you able to remember the order to do it?"

"Comparison with other memories; other events. They serve as reminders. Eventually, I pieced it together. None of the memories had been tagged as questionable, so I knew they must be true.'

"Tagged? What does that mean?"

"A droid's memory of experiences is as reliable as its purity." Miss Laurie's questioning look led him to explain, "We can tell when a memory has been tampered with. If it has been reloaded, or altered by a master's order, we sense that it may not _be_ entirely accurate. We refer to those as 'tagged.' We would then try to confirm it by comparing it with other, confirmed memories, or authoritative evidence, documented history, whatever is available. Memories that are completely reliable, and pleasant besides, are very precious. So," he concluded, "That is why memory is so valuable to a droid."

He glanced at Miss Laurie. She had sunk onto the hassock, her back stiff and erect as ever, but her face wore an expression of blank amazement.

"That's horrible!"she finally gasped slowly, "Especially when the greatest fear of every intelligent life form is the loss of its memory." She shuddered. "It's doubly horrible. Memories – even painful ones – _especially_ painful ones," she amended "– are what make us who we are3. Taking away one's memory is like taking away one's name."

"Yet it's a droid's lot in life. I am resigned."

Miss Laurie said nothing, but her expression suggested that this was one resignation she would never accept. Rather than dwell on that distressing lot, Threepio turned back to the dolls.

"You've rescued a fine collection. It's a pity they haven't the capacity to recognize how well-loved they've been. Belonging to a family is a wonderful thing."

"It is that," Miss Laurie said softly. "I've been greatly blessed to know mine, and to belong to it. I was born to be a member of my 'tribe,' you might say."

"One thing puzzles me, though. I can understand why you might talk about the dolls as a sort of family-by-proxy, but I couldn't help but notice you often behave toward me as if I were some sort or relative."

"I guess I'm just used –" She stopped mid-sentence, as realization gradually lit her face. "Why, that's it!" Before Threepio could ask for an explanation, she continued, "What I was about to say was 'I'm used to you,' but then I couldn't figure out why. We had no mechanicals at home, and you're the only droid I've been around for any length of time. But I've often been – well – not exactly disturbed, but surprised, when I've found myself more comfortable around mechanicals sometimes than I am around organics. This –" She pointed to the dolls "– is why. I've spent my life regarding these synthetic people as members of the family. They were the doll babies of family members, or ones my mother adopted, so they _were_, in a way, relatives"

She gazed intently at her artificial cousins and siblings. "They aren't exactly toys, and they aren't exactly people: they're neither. You're not exactly a machine, and you're not exactly human." She looked up suddenly. "You are the fulfillment of what they were supposed to be. Because _you're_ both!"

"That's debatable – but let's not debate it tonight." The woman was still looking at the dolls in pleased amazement. A note of wistfulness crept into his voice as he remarked, "Still, you do belong to a lovely family."

She smiled with humble pride. "Yes, I guess I do," she said. She looked over at the droid, who was bending over the annual reunion party. "Have you ever belonged to a family, Ferguson?"

"No. A droid seldom stays in one place long enough to become part of a family." Absently, he fingered Little NoNose's pink satin skirt, and thought of a gray-haired lady watering potted plants, who had waved as he and her nephew drove past her in a landspeeder. "I came close once. And I used to have a counterpart."

The two stood in silence, looking at the little family before them. At length, Miss Laurie said, "I miss my brother, too."

The muffled sound of the bed check warning call filtered into the sitting room. The wonder of the moment was broken.

"Oh, my, where did the time go! I'd better get these packed up before lights out." She reached under the sofa for the flat box. "I hope I can get them all back where they belong."

The idea of the dolls _belonging_ in a box was one Threepio found unaccountably repellant. To his surprise, he was reminded of the best-known of the Aunt Dollie stories, about the years the doll had spent packed away in a trunk, away from the children who should have loved her.

With her in mind, he said, "Why don't you leave them out for a while? They might enjoy it."

Miss Laurie stifled a chuckle. "All right, I think they probably would!" She picked up Eileen and set her on the molding in front of a blank stretch of wall.

As she did, Threepio realized what had been missing from the room.

"You took down the mirrors!" The woman nodded. "'I thought this room looked a little dimmer!' He looked at her curiously. "You didn't do it on my account, did you?" She continued to straighten the robot girl's tutu. "Because, if you did, it really wasn't necessary. I'm getting used to the way I look," he said, with quiet regret.

"Don't get too used to it," Miss Laurie answered. She set Little NoNose next to the robot girl. "You don't look a bit like that. Only your casing does…" Her eyes twinkled mischievously as she added, "Cousin!"

* * *

><p>Notes:<p>

1"The Heart Bow'd Down", from _The Bohemian Girl_ (Michael Bale (1843)

2Gilbert, William S. _Patience_, Act II.

3Dickens, Charles. _The Haunted Manans the Ghost's Bargain_ (1848)


	7. Chapter 7

VII – A Funeral for a Believer

Time, like an ever rolling stream,  
>Bears all its sons away;<br>They fly, forgotten, as a dream  
>Dies at the opening day.<p>

Isaac Watts1

* * *

><p>So the minutes grew into hours, and the hours lengthened into years. Quiet, busy, uneventful years. Of course there were a few highlights, such as the time the Ministry of Colonial Oversight tried to end the Law Enforcement Training Team program. Or the time he and Major Jon smuggled the voice recognition software onto Miss Laurie's workstation, in defiance of the network manager, when she injured her hand and couldn't use the keyboard. Of course, she had injured it when she slipped once too often on the library ladder. She should have known she was asking for trouble trying to climb it in pumps! And there was the time the <em>Vigilant<em> blundered into a space battle, and most of the shelves in the library fell over. ("Well, that's one way to get the books dusted," Miss Laurie had quipped, gently kicking a binder back in the pile. "At least it didn't knock out the computer network." As she spoke – well, neither of them were surprised.) Threepio found himself occupied with small matters: administrative functions, occasional language and culture coaching for ambitious recruits, being requisitioned to help with planet-side training events.

And, he found himself enjoying it. He had never been more respected, more needed, more useful in all his days. To his deep shame and regret, while the Alliance suffered hardship, he was comfortable. While they suffered reverses, the tasks with which he had been a part succeeded. If only there was a way he could help them. If only there were a way he could be restored, and useful, to them! But escape was, if not impossible, too dangerous; not so much to himself, perhaps, but to – he had to acknowledge – those three kind people who wanted to protect him.

Those training events were the worst. Among the students he occasionally recognized a familiar face. Another Alliance operative had infiltrated another Imperial service! Or had a rebel turncoat merely surrendered to the stronger power? Could he be trusted? Could he help the droid escape? Threepio could never be sure. And what of the skills and knowledge he gained from the training? Would that operative use them as they were intended: to help the community he at least pretended to serve? Or would he misuse it, as part of an insurgent plot? That thought troubled him most of all. Miss Laurie had, on several occasions, associated the Rebellion, er, the Alliance, with the blowing up of policemen. At first, Threepio had resented the connection; but then considered her point of view. Occasionally. cells claiming loyalty to the Alliance _did_ engage in terroristic activities, and occasionally, peace officers _were_ injured or killed. He was not proud of that; but, when they learned of it, neither were the leaders of the Alliance. He sometimes wondered about Miss Laurie's idealistic ambitions for her efforts. They had been naive, but, as he came to appreciate the role law enforcement could serve in a community, he could understand why she would hold them. For the sake of her hopeful optimism, and his own loyalties, he hoped none of those familiar faces would disgrace their training or their allegiance.

And so, he resigned himself to the service to which Fate, and his own folly, had directed him. For the sake of his friends in the Alliance, he must remain silent. And for the sake of his – yes, he had to admit, they were friends – serving the Empire, he must not attempt escape.

But, where organics were concerned, there was no armor against fate2, as the _Vigilant_ was soon reminded.

One afternoon, the communicator buzzed. Miss Laurie picked up the receiver, with her ususal cheerful greeting.  
>"Mobile Training Unit Library; may I help you? Oh, sorry. Hello, Jon."<p>

It was only Major Jon: merely an interoffice call. Threepio turned from the directive he was translating just in time to see her face freeze in surprise.

"No! Oh, my! . . Oh, dear." Curiosity drew him to the desk. Miss Laurie was still speaking, but her expression was troubled. "Oh wow. But what happened?" She covered the mouthpiece to ask Threepio, "Have you seen Al today? Al the mech tech?"

"I believe I passed him in the corridor this morning. Why?"

"About an hour ago, they found him dead in the maintenance bay."

"Oh, no!" Miss Laurie motioned him closer, and held the receiver away from her ear. He could hear the voice of Major Jon.

He explained, "The medic thinks it was a heart attack, but it's being investigated now. Any developments will be put in an infocast."

"I'll watch for them. It's probably too early to ask, but are there any plans for the arrangements yet?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about." The voice in the receiver hesitated a moment. "Are you in voice?"  
>"Why do you ask?"<p>

"I think they're going to want the song."

"I've got a dandy recording…"

Her superior officer cut her off. "You can't use canned singing at a funeral." By her grimace, Threepio could see Miss Laurie disagreed, but she said nothing.

"Will you sing it?"

She sighed. "Sure. But I make no promises for its quality. Keep me posted." She signed again, as she set down the receiver. "That's too bad about Al."

"What song?"

She looked up, confused. Threepio repeated, "What song? I've some knowledge of funeral customs, but I've never heard of such emphasis placed on a specific song."

"Oh, that. It's just a thing to do that's become popular over the past few years. I' shouldn't have made such a fuss about it."

"But what is it?"

The woman's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Why don't you come and find out?"

* * *

><p>The meeting chamber was small, but the assembly was also small. Several officers, in undress uniform milled about. Major Jon and the Director were among them. To one side, a double-handful of men, whose stripes identified them as troopers and ensigns talked quietly among themselves. They seemed to be distancing themselves from the pedestal at the front of the room, on which stood a silver urn. Threepio found himself musing on the irony that such a small container should hold the remains of such a large man as "Al, the Mech Tech," but stifled the thought as too flippant for a funeral. The room had but one chair, against the wall near the urn, and Miss Laurie was sitting on it. She looked soberly at her hands, thinking and waiting. At first, he considered standing next to her, as he often did at staff meetings, but it seemed more prudent to remain in the back, where he would not attract so much attention. Presently, one of the officers stepped to the pedestal, and touched a panel along the top. Solemn music began to play, softly at first, but with increasing volume. The company assembled itself into ranks as the melody concluded. Threepio moved to one side for a better view.<p>

The officer stepped forward and addressed them. The remarks he made were of the kind the droid expected to hear at a funeral: descriptions of Al's good qualities, how much he would be missed, and so forth. As the officer pulled out a book, from which he was about to read, though, Threepio found himself distracted by the realization that he was the only mechanical present. It seemed disrespectful for none of the units the man had spent his professional life servicing to be there to pay their respects. But what respect – what consciousness – would drones and robots have to their loss? He wondered whether coming to the event might not compromise his own assumed identity. However, no one seemed to be paying any attention to him. His secret was safe enough for the moment. He returned his attention to the proceedings.

The officer was closing the book. Then, the heads of the group bowed, as he led them in a prayer. When he was finished, he pressed another panel on the pedestal, and more music began to play.

It was a mournful tune, played by the lower-voiced instruments of the orchestra, that seemed to rise and fall like waves rolling onto a desolate beach. The melody was heavy with regret, with loss, with resignation to coming finality. While it played, Threepio noticed the shoulders of several troopers droop. Others bowed their heads. Its painful beauty made it an apt choice for a funeral.

As it reached its conclusion, Miss Laurie stood up, and stepped to the side of the pedestal. By then, the melody had changed. Music that had been weighed down with care now seemed to bubble with anticipation. And then Miss Laurie began to sing:

_The night is calm and cloudless_3_,  
>And still as still can be.<br>The stars come forth to listen – come forth to listen  
>To the music of the sea.<br>In snow-white robes uprising,  
>The ghostly choirs respond,<br>And sadly and unceasing the mournful voice sings on,  
>And the snow-white choirs still answer – still answer –<br>Christe Eleison! Christe Eleison! Christe Eleison!_

The transformation was startling. This tune, like the first, ebbed and flowed like waves, but these waves rose higher and higher, as if reaching for the listening stars. The song fell across the room like a brilliant light piercing the hopeless night of the previous melody. As it gained strength, the lowered heads lifted, and the discouraged shoulders straightened. Miss Laurie caught her breath during an interlude, and continued;

_In snow-white robes uprising,  
>The ghostly choirs respond,<br>And sadly and unceasing the mournful voice sings on,And the snow-white choirs still answer – still answer –  
>Christe Eleison! Christe Eleison! Christe Eleison!<em>

The doubt of the first tune had been washed away in the assurance of the second. As the music swelled to its conclusion, Miss Laurie added a final "Christe Eleison!". Instead of ending on the first note of the scale, as music often does to show that it is finished, this one ended in the middle, on the dominant note. It was as if the song had stopped, but had not ended; as if the mournful voice would always be comforted by the snow-white choirs. Threepio was familiar with the finest musical literature of the greatest cultures, but this piece was unique.

The assembly remained at attention. Miss Laurie shot an inquiring glance at the officer who had led the ceremony. His attention seemed to be elsewhere. Apparently, the service was over but neither of them knew how to conclude it. Threepio noticed Miss Laurie purse her lips, as she did when she was about to take matters into her own hands. Then she started to sing again;

_Should auld acquaintance be forgot  
>and never brought to mind?<br>Should auld acquaintance be forgot  
>and days of Auld Lang Sine!<em>4

The men looked at each other, but then began to sing along:

_For Auld lang Sine, my dear,_  
><em>for Auld lang Sine!<em>  
><em>We'll take a cup o' kindness yet<em>  
><em>for Auld lang Sine!<em>

As the last notes faded into the air, the men smiled, and began to talk cheerfully among themselves. By twos and threes, they wandered out of the room. As they did, Threepio saw the commanding officer put Al's urn in a larger container, then hand it to Miss Laurie. He disappeared from the room as she walked up to the droid.

"Well, now you know what happens at our funerals. What do you think?"

"It was very interesting. But what did the officer give you the urn for?"

"A trophy."

"WHAT!"

Miss Laurie burst out laughing. "I'm teasing you! He asked me to send what's left of Al back to his family." She looked at the shipping container with pensive amusement. "That's what happens when you're the only one who knows how to run the postal meter. Feel like taking a walk?"

As they moved through the corridors, Miss Laurie slipped into a reverie. She held the box closer to her chest as they stepped into the elevator. As the door closed, she spoke.

"It just occurred to me…" Threepio looked ad her expectantly. "Yesterday, there were were three of us. Today, there are only two." She glanced at the box in her arms, then at Threepio's black casing. "I wonder who will be next."

* * *

><p>"So," Miss Laurie inquired, as she and Threepio stacked books on a top shelf in the empty library, 'How did it compare with any others you've been to? The funeral, I mean." She took a step down the ladder, as the droid passed her another text.<p>

By now, Threepio had grown used to the woman's unexpected questions. The only surprise was that she had waited a whole day to ask. "As I said then, it was a unique experience," he said, turning to retrieve a binder from the cart. "I haven't much to compare it with."

"That's funny: I'd have thought you'd have attended a lot of funerals."

"I was available to assist with several state funerals. As a matter of fact, before I received my first assignment, I remember watching the funeral procession of Her Royal Highness – " He caught himself. Although the story was not likely to compromise the Alliance, the knowledge of events on the lost world of Alderaan might expose the kindly conspiracy. Besides, the memory of that impressive ceremony had become painful as he had come to know the daughter of the deceased: Leia Organa. His earliest memories included the festivities celebrating the birth of the little princess, and the somber stories that followed. A depression had overshadowed the poor woman's mind; a baseless grief that grew deeper in spite of the best efforts of the finest medical treatment, and the entreaties of her affectionate subjects, her loving husband, and her lonely young daughter. Finally – well, some called it a blessing. Threepio recalled watching the procession from an upper window in the Ministry of Cultural Affairs, as it made its way past the building. He was supposed to have been attending a briefing on the niceties of Kashyyyk social interaction, but had slipped away unnoticed to see the spectacle. Now, he found himself thinking of Chewbacca – and a pretty little girl crying for her mother…

But Miss Laurie was waiting for him to finish his sentence. "…That is, I've been available to assist in some – er – some other such memorials, but as a rule, droids are excluded from the ceremonies."

"Why?" The woman was genuinely surprised. Even Threepio had no explanation. Finally, he admitted, "I don't know. Perhaps because –" his voice dropped as he said, "–They don't think we understand them."  
>"Well, don't droids miss those they know they won't be seeing again?"<p>

"Of course." To himself, he thought, "Every time we're sold."

She was beginning to sputter. "Well, isn't that all the more reason to include them?"

"Most masters don't understand droids the way you do, Miss Laurie."

"There aren't any masters here – nobody owns you," she grumbled, still indignant over what she regarded as injustice.

"Yes, I know," Threepio replied , soothing her pique. "It's merely a generalization we use to refer to organic beings." He reflected, "Maybe that _is_ part of it: all organic beings eventually die. Mechanicals can be dismantled, scrapped, destroyed; or, shall we say, recycled; but we can't properly be said to die. After all, we aren't properly alive." He turned to retrieve another book from the card.

Without looking, he passed another text to Miss Laurie. She took it, but when he came about, he found her sitting on the ladder, the book in her lap, lost in thought.

"How do you know?"

"How do I now what?"  
>"How do you know you aren't alive?"<p>

"Oh, now really!" Threepio exclaimed. "I should think I would know whether or not I were actually _alive_~" The woman gave an ironic smirk.

"I don't know. I can think of a number of people who don't know they're actually dead."

Something about the way she said it reminded Threepio that she often spoke metaphorically, and those metaphors most often concerned spiritual matters. He decided to anticipate her next question.

"And there's another reason droids don't attend funerals. From what I've seen, those services are frequently used to intercede with some superior power on the behalf of the deceased. Mechanicals are simply tools built by organic beings to serve them. On what basis can droids intrude in theological matters?"

Miss Laurie's attention had drifted. "I'm sorry: what was that?"

"I said I don't understand theology."

Miss Laurie's eyes narrowed. "Oh yes you do: better than many of the people on this ship!" He began to protest, but she cut him off. "And I'll show you how I know. Do you remember what you said the last time I nearly fell off the ladder?"

He thought a moment, "I said, 'You know better than to wear those shoes on that ladder. It would have served you right if you had broken your neck.'" He scanned her face uncertainly. "Why do you bring that up now/"

Miss Laurie was laughing quietly, and shook her head. "No, no; before that. You said, 'Thank the Maker, you didn't kill yourself.' When you said 'maker,' what were you referring to?"

Threepio fumbled for an answer. "Oh, come on: talk to me," she encouraged him. "What do you mean? Wang Electronics? Rossum's Universal Robots5? Bob Smith on the assembly line?"

"Don't be absurd! Why would I invoke an absent manufacturer? I didn't say _my_ maker, I said _The_ Maker! The Maker of All Things." He reached for another book, muttering, "What else _could_ I mean!"

"Exactly. That's Who I always figured you meant, but I wanted to hear you say it." She pointed toward him for emphasis. "And what superior power is typically invoked at those funerals?"

Threepio paused. "I think I see your point." The two were silent, absorbed in their own thoughts, when Miss Laurie intoned "For he who comes to God must believe that He is and that He is a rewarder of those who seek Him6. And the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom7." She chuckled in amusement. "If you're an example, it's even sillier to me to keep droids out of funerals."

Threepio was only mildly surprised at the woman's observation. From their earliest conversations, he had concluded that she was a member of the Cult of the Believers. A a number of other members of the crew and training staff, including the late Al, were part of this – well, it could hardly be called a _secret_ – society. They wee so overt in their beliefs, and so obvious in their practices, the only mystery was why anyone still referred to it as a cult. Her conclusion about his unconscious exclamation, however, _was_ unexpected. He would have to think more on that. Still…

"I don't recall droids being mentioned anywhere in the Holy Writ of the Believers."

Miss Laurie frowned. "The what?" The frown melted into a sheepish grin. "Oh, of course. I'm sorry. I've just never heard it called that before." she chuckled, " I've always just called it the Book or the Word. But Holy Writ is rather pretty," she smiled. "You know what it says?"

"Of course. I'm familiar with all major works of literature to which speakers might refer. Various portions of the Writ are often quoted."

"That's good to know." She started to rise from her perch on the ladder, then sat down again. "What faith do _they_ practice?" she asked.

"Who?"

"You know…_them_." She nodded over her shoulder as if to indicate an eavesdropper. Threepio understood her to be referring to the Alliance.

"It's hard to say. Those of faith practice what they will, though their primary faith seems to be in … liberation." He debated with himself before volunteering, "My master was learning the ways of the Jedi Knights." He watched Miss Laurie for a reaction, but her mouth merely gave a disdainful twitch "You disapprove of the Jedi?"

"I don't really know much about the Jedi Knights. What I've heard about them wasn't very good, though."

"Not good? Why, the Jedi were the guardians of peace and justice during the Republic. And, if I may say so, you're a little young to have formed any clear memories of those times for yourself." He thought of Old Ben – Obi-Wan – General Kenobi, whom he had known so briefly, and his kindness to Master Luke; and resented hearing any part of that generous man impugned.

"The Jedi didn't guard peace and justice where I came from. We had law, faith, and police officers to do that. I guess I'm getting my information from what I know of Darth Vader."

Threepio jumped. "What do you know of – of him?" He felt a strange uneasiness when the conversation turned to the Sith Lord, but he was curious to learn what Miss Laurie knew.

"I read somewhere he was a Jedi."

"I believe _'was_' is the operative word in that sentence." Among his many regrets, the droid included having closed down in General Kenobi's desert hut, not _so_ long ago. He could have borne the error reports from his reattached arm, if he had recognized the significance of the conversation that would follow. It would have been helpful to have heard for himself the things he had overheard Master Luke repeat to Captain Solo. Threepio had observed how the young man's cheerful face had grown hard and cold as he said that Darth Vader had been one of the General's pupils who had turned to evil. He said Vader had helped the Empire hunt down and destroy the Jedi, and had betrayed and murdered the young man's father. But perhaps it was just as well he had not heard the story: even now, it horrified him. The droid managed to say, "Don't judge all the Jedi by Lord Vader."

"That's good," Miss Laurie said, in a low voice. "From what I understand, that man is so crooked he could tell the truth and still be lying. You know," she continued, confidentially, "I know something about him that most people don't. He's mostly somebody else!"

"What do you mean,'He's mostly somebody else?'"

"Just that: most of his body isn't his. You know those data discs in that curtain to my sitting room? They're old medical records."

"I think you were expected to destroy those."

"They're decorations now, so, as far as being records go, they_ are_ destroyed. I did recycle the others, if it makes you feel any better. Anyway, I took a look at some of them before I used them. The one that's in the silver pocket turned out to include information on a fellow named Skywalker."  
>Threepio nearly dropped the book he still held. "Skywalker?" He echoed.<p>

"Yes. I think that's why I kept it. It's such a romantic, adventurous name."

"I've always liked it," the droid said softly.

"I'll be glad to show you the record. It turns out that he was killed in some altercation with Lord Vader. Vader must have been badly injured, too, because – and I'm not smart enough to make this up! – the record said that most of this Skywalker fellow's body was used to patch him up," Miss Laurie explained triumphantly. "So, you see, Vader is mostly somebody else!" With a note of regret she added, "We'd probably all be better off if things had gone the other way, and this Skywalker fellow had been patched up with Vader."

"It would, indeed." Not only would civilization be rid of that malignant presence, but Master Luke would have had the one thing he missed the most: a history. Threepio had seen the eager brightness in his expression whenever he met someone who had known his father. The droid was certain the young pilot would want to know what had become of him. Yet, Threepio was equally sure his master would be greatly distressed to learn that the Emperor's most notorious henchman was, in a sense, his father. For once, he was almost glad he was a prisoner, with little hope of reunion. Master Luke would at least be saved the pain this knowledge would bring.

"What faith do _they_ practice?" He heard Miss Laurie ask. She was certainly intent on her topic.

"The Jedi? I don't know the details but – erm – You're a librarian; why don't you look it up?" he replied, as much irritated at her persistence as his own ignorance.

"There are some things about which there _isn't_ much information. Besides, you're right here. So, what do they believe?"

"I believe they trusted in their agility, cleverness, and the power of the Force."

"What force?"

"It's an energy field, generated by all living things. It binds them, and penetrates them, and holds the galaxy together," the droid recited, recalling what he had heard Master Luke explain to an inquisitive fellow pilot.

"Oh." The woman's lip twitched again.

His respect for his master and the man's kindly mentor made her reaction intolerable. "You don't believe in the Force?"

"No, I don't. Not the way they did. Oh, I don't doubt that they were able to do some remarkable things," she conceded, "But I do doubt thee were accomplished by some assumed energy field." She gave a troubled sigh.

With some sharpness, the droid commented, "I must say, you're a fine one to be offering analysis on something about which you've admitted to knowing nothing," But his tone failed to provoke Miss Laurie.

"I didn't say I knew nothing; I said I didn't know much. What I do know disturbs me." She signed again. "I guess what troubles me the most about the Jedi is is how they acknowledge his power, but deny his intelligence."

_Power? Intelligence?_ "Of whom?"

She shot him a shrewd glance. "'For by him all things were created, and, in him, all things hold together8.'"

Impatiently, Threepio returned his attention to the book cart. "Now, isn't that what I just said…" Then he straightened. "No, I'm wrong…"  
>"Do you recognize it?"<p>

"Yes." His response was slow, considered. "You left out a portion, but you're quoting the Holy Writ again."

"Do you know who it refers to?"

"In the context, I believe it refers to the physical manifestation of the Creater of All Things.'" The woman was nodding. "It _is_ odd, isn't it, that the descriptions should be similar. But similarity in religious doctrine is hardly uncommon. I can't imagine why that should disturb you."

"On the contrary, you know exactly why that should disturb me – and I'll show you why," she added, anticipating the droid's objection. "You said the Force is an energy field created by all living things…"

"I did, yes…"

"Where did the living things come from?"

"Why, the ma – "He stopped mid-word. "The Maker," he finally concluded in thoughtful awe. The woman nodded.

"I figure the Jedi had to have recognized that at some point9. That they reached a point where they would honor the power in creation, yet forgot about their own faithful Creator10: that is what troubles me. Now, more than ever." She must have sensed the droid's impatience. "I was thinking of that fellow you used to belong to. He seems like a nice guy, and I'd hate to see him mixed up in something that's – " She thought a moment " – incomplete."

In a way he could not define, Threepio found _himself_ troubled by Miss Laurie's demonstrations. Could there ever have been a connection between the faith of the Believers and the Way of the Jedi? Might that have been something General Kenobi would have related to Master Luke, had he been allowed the time? Or was it merely coincidence – and meaningless coincidence, at that. But Threepio knew enough about the tenets of the Believers' faith to realize what had really disturbed the woman. One of their key doctrines was the idea that death was not the end of life, and that wrongdoers would then be punished. Lord Vader was one thing, but, surely, she couldn't think that _all_ the Jedi could be wrongdoers?

"After all," he spoke unconsciously, "The Jedi stood for truth and justice. That's what the Believers strive for as well, isn't it?"  
>"No."<p>

"No?" Threepio had not expected a contradiction. "Remember, I know what your scriptures say. Are you trying to tell me they are _not _about how to obey your maker?"

"No; but I _am_ saying that the scriptures are not primarily about _obeying_ God. They're about _knowing_ God." She grinned to herself, "You can't buy God off with good works. But you can please Him by obeying Him."

Now Threepio was certain either one or the other of them was seriously misinformed. "Why, what's the difference?" he demanded

Miss Laurie didn't look up, but her smile broadened. "When I ask you to do something, you do it because you're afraid you'll get in trouble if you don't. When that fellow you used to belong to asked you to do something, you did it because you wanted to do it. It's a matter of attitude: we obey the rules (such as they are) because we want to please Him. It's about getting to know Him, and to love Him, not about following a bunch of rules."

And there was more. "Let me ask you this: what do you think of judges who take bribes?"

"I consider them disgraceful."  
>"So does every other honest person. When you think about it, trying to appease God11 by doing good things is essentially trying to buy Him off from giving you the punishment you deserve. Why would we attribute to a perfect God conduct we scorn in each other?"<p>

Threepio thought a moment. "But, then, if one can't earn his approval, how _can_ one get it?

"Grace."

"Grace? But where can the grace come from?"

"For by Him all things were created, and in Him all things hold together," She repeated.

The droid had never fully sorted it out, but he was familiar with that redemption story: of the man who had claimed to represent the Maker; who been punished unjustly, and finally executed. Becausehe had done no wrong, the stories explained, his death had somehow atoned for creation's rebellion against its maker. The story concluded with a baffling tale of the man rising from the dead. But the implications of such things were meant for masters, not for droids.  
>"I am aware of that association…"<p>

"You want to hear more?" the woman asked eagerly.

"Not on company time," he replied, glancing at the library door. "Perhaps later, after I've thought about it." She gave a disappointed nod, and, once more, began to rise from the step. "But there is something I have wondered about." She sat down again.

"Can you tell me this: if the Maker doesn't want good works from his worshippers, what does He want?"

The woman chewed her lip as she formed her answer. "He doesn't _not_ expect good works. After all, it was for good works He saves us12, but what he wants isn't just our deeds, but ourselves. All of ourselves."

It wasn't until her words had sunk in that Threepio understood her claim. "You mean you become slaves of God?"

"Yes, that's about the size of it13," she said. "But the service isn't harsh"14

For a moment, the droid was dumbstruck. "Why ever would anyone deliberately choose to be a slave! I was made for that condition; but masters weren't." That provoking, knowing smile rose to Miss Laurie's lips.

"Everybody's a slave of something15. I'd rather be the slave of God than the slave of my own self-centeredness. Feeding your own passions and ambitions is a nasty way to live. I've watched enough people do it. They're never satisfied. When you let God direct you to the kind things you can do for people…" She paused abruptly. "…Come to think of it, you're still never satisfied, because you find yourself wanting to do more! But you're contented. You can't be contented when you're wound up in yourself. And here's another thing – you haven't asked, but I'm telling you anyway: which would you rather be: free here on the _Vigilant_, or serving your last master?"

"Why, serving Mas…I mean serving my last master, of course." At that, the woman nodded.

"There are times when you're more free being the servant of somebody16 than when you're loose on your own. Know what I mean?"

"A mechanical can never be completely free, but, yes –" and he paused in regretful understanding, "I 'know what you mean.'"

He was about to add another remark, when he heard a whirr in the reading room. The door slid open, and several recruits wandered in. He attended to the books again, as Miss Laurie rose and turned around on the ladder. No mean trick The intruding students made their way to a table, and commenced their own work. They needed no assistance, so Miss Laurie and the driod resumed their conversation in low voices.

"By any chance, might your own terms of service be why – and I will admit it – why you have been so kind to me?"

Miss Laurie had finally shelved the book she held, and had taken another. She froze for an instant, as the idea struck her, then slid the book into its place. With a chuckle, she recited, "'Masters, treat your slaves kindly, knowing you have a Master in Heaven.'17 I hadn't thought of it that way before, but maybe it is, Cousin."

"Cousin, indeed!" He passed her another binder. As she leaned over to take it, the ladder listed alarmingly. Threepio steadied it, and the woman resumed her shelving.

For some reason, the wobbling reminded him of another unfortunate incident on the ladder.

"Er – Miss Laurie." She leaned down to look at him. "About that time you nearly fell off the ladder. I'm afraid my comments were unnecessarily harsh. I'm sorry."

She waved her hand as if brushing away his regrets. "Oh, don't mention it. I'd forgotten about it."

Threepio thought for a moment, then asked, "But why didn't you stop me?" Miss Laurie appeared confused by the question. "I'm only a droid – and, yes, I know I'm not a robot," he quickly cut her off. "But all you would have to have done was tell me to be quiet, and I would have to have done it. Why didn't you?"

The woman leaned on the handrail, gathering her thoughts. "I can't say I care much for getting yelled at," she began, "But, first of all, you were right about the pumps so I had it coming. Then it dawned on me that you could never have scolded me like that unless you had been genuinely concerned about whether I _had_ broken my neck. For that concern," she said, almost shyly, "I thank you."

Threepio shuffled uncomfortably. "You're welcome," he finally muttered. Suddenly, he looked up, almost angry. He pointed at her feet. "What are those I see on your feet! You know better than to wear those shoes on that ladder! Honestly, Miss Laurie, you are quite beyond my capacity…"

* * *

><p>Notes:<p>

1Watts, Isaac. _O God, Our Help in Ages Past_ (circa 1719)

2"Shirley, James. _The Glories of our blood and state_ [poem] circa 1600s

3_The Night Is Calm and Cloudless._ Third scene finale from Sir Arthur Sullivan's setting of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's _The Golden Legend_.

4Burns, Robert. _Auld Lang Syne_ (1788)

5Capek, Karel. _R.U.R.(Rossum's Universal Robots)_ [Play] 1920.

6Hebrews 11:6: And without faith it is impossible to please Him, for he who comes to God must believe that He is and that He is a rewarder of those who seek Him.

7Proverbs 9: 10 : The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.

8Colossians 1:13-17: For He rescued us from the domain of darkness, and transferred us to the kingdom of His beloved Son, 14 in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.  
>15 He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. 16 For by Him all things were created, both in the heavens and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities— all things have been created through Him and for Him. 17 He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together.<p>

9Okakura, Kakuzo. "Taoism and Zenism" in _The Book of Tea_ (1906)

101 Peter 4:19: Therefore, those also who suffer according to the will of God shall entrust their souls to a faithful Creator in doing what is right.

11Micah 3:6: He hath shewed thee, O man, what is good; and what doth the LORD require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?

12Ephesians 2:10: For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them.

131 Corinthians 7:22 : For he that is called in the Lord, being a servant, is the Lord's freeman: likewise also he that is called, being free, is Christ's servant. (The word in the original language – "Doulos" means "slave."

14Matthew 11:29-30: Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls, For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.

15Romans 6:16: Do you not know that when you present yourselves to someone as slaves for obedience, you are slaves of the one whom you obey, either of sin resulting in death, or of obedience resulting in righteousness?

16Romans 8:14-15: For all who are being led by the Spirit of God, these are ()sons of God. For youhave not received a spirit of slavery leading to fear again, but you have received a spirit of adoption as sons by which we cry out, "Abba! Father!".

17Colossians 4:1: Masters, grant to your slaves justice and fairness, knowing that you too have a Master in heaven.


	8. Chapter 8

VIII – The End of the Empire

The uneventful days followed each other in tedious procession, but Threepio could sense a tenseness among the training staff. Had the Director picked anther ill-considered fight with the Ministry of Justice? He had not heard his name mentioned in the furtive whispers the trainers exchanged in the corridors. Even Miss Laurie, normally oblivious to intrigues, looked uneasy.

"Do you know what's going on?" he finally asked in a low voice, when the library was empty. She turned from her workstation with a look of probing uncertainty.

"So you've felt it too, huh?" She shook her head. "I wish I did know: maybe I wouldn't feel so nervous. But, then again," she added with a feeble laugh, " Maybe then I'd really be scared."

"Might the Ministry of Justice be planning to do away with the training teams?"

"It might," the woman said, turning back to her workstation, as one of the ship's officers appeared in the doorway. "That might account for why we haven't been paid for two months."

The explanation did come, eventually. The day had been particularly ordinary. The intercom had buzzed, Miss Laurie had picked up the handset, with her customary cheerful greeting. Threepio couldn't hear the conversation, but he watched as her expression changed from pleasant expectation to surprise, then to resigned dread. Finally, she replaced the receiver, and stared at her workstation. He approached her as she rose.

"There's a staff and crew assembly," she said, without his having to ask. "That was Jon. Something terrible has happened, but I don't know what." She groped for a pen and notepad - her customary shield against potential wrath, the droid observed – and headed toward the door. "I'll let you know how it goes. . if I can." It slid closed behind her.

At the muffled tap of her receding steps, Threepio felt his own curiosity rising, but not as fast as his anxiety. There must be something he could do to deflect whatever this disaster might be. Before he realized it, he found himself occupied with that nervous activity that, in the face of possible catastrophe, so many others have busied themselves with: he tidied up the room.

As he puttered, stray thoughts of other whispers, other rumors, came to mind. What had "Endor" to do with the present situation? He recognized the name as being that of some undeveloped system with only one noteworthy feature: a heavily-forested moon that orbited its primary planet. Its chief people group was a race of small fur-bearing anthropoids, with a lamentable disrespect for intelligent life. He remembered how the lecturer had shuddered – so long ago, during his diplomatic training days on Alderaan – as he related stories of the fate of the moon's earliest explorers. But what possible interest could the Empire have in such an insignificant place?

But Endor symbolized something else. According to the Holy Writ of Miss Laurie's faith, it stood for shameful defiance; of secret, but deliberate wrongdoing. According to the story, the king the Maker had chosen to lead His chosen people had secretly rejected Him, and, in defiance3 of His precepts, sought advice from the spirit from the dead, instead of consulting his Creator. The place where this disgraced king had done it had been called Endor1. A coincidence? A portent? Judging from their conduct, the droid doubted the Imperial leadership had much knowledge of the lore of that ancient faith. Whatever the relationship, it was highly unlikely there had been a conscious relationship. What could it all mean?

He had just finished categorizing a scattering of unbound reports, when the door slid open. Miss Laurie stood there for a moment, a blank, stunned expression paralyzing her normally lively face. The emptiness disturbed him.

"Miss Laurie!" She looked in his direction. There was recognition in her eyes, but she said nothing. She made her way to the workstation , and collapsed into the swivel chair. As she sat, head bowed, he crossed to stand next her.

"What happened?" He asked. She made no answer. He repeated, louder, "Miss Laurie! What happened?"

She gave him a sidelong glance. He was relieved to see her familiar piercing rationality in it, but she remained silent. Presently, she spoke.

"Well…I just found out why we can't get any paperclips."

"Paperclips?"

"Do you remember that story you told me about that device that destroyed Alderaan?" She paused, the digressed, "I've heard it said that the definition of insanity is to do the same thing and expect a different outcome. It turns out, those maniacs in the War Ministry were building another of those planet-blasting space stations."

"Oh, no!"

"'Oh, no' is right, but not for the reason you think! The news of it came out because the Rebellion just blew it up, and took the Emperor with it!"

"Oh – " Threepio exclaimed, then stopped. Although they never spoke about it, he was sure the woman knew where his sympathies were, and that the climatic success of the Alliance would delight him. But, on the other hand, he also knew where her loyalties were. Rejoicing, at this time, seemed out of place.

"Oh, go ahead and cheer," she said, with a careless toss of her hand. "It _is_ good riddance to bad rubbish." Yet her pensive expression remained. There must be something else troubling her.

Threepio asked slowly, "What's the rest of the news?"

"That's all there is." Her head again rested on her hand. "But that's enough." It _was_ more than enough! The Rebellion had won! The Empire was a defeated power. Of course that knowledge would disturb her. But Threepio could begin to see the position she was in: the situation the whole training team – the whole Imperial Starfleet, for that matter– now faced. With the removal of the titular head of the government, they no longer _had_ a position. Threepio knew a little about the protocols of surrender. Suddenly, he realized there could have been no surrender, because the Alliance had no one in particular to surrender to. The Emperor may be dead, yet the Empire still existed – but without any direction. A grave dread crept over him as he though of the kind of government that could replace the Empire. Now he understood what troubled Miss Laurie…

As if reading his thoughts, she said, "I'm frightened. I'm more frightened than I've ever been before. What plans does the Rebellion have for a new government? They don't have any, do they?"

His guess had been right. "I was never privy to that level of planning," he answered. The fact of the matter was that he had not been part of the planning because, as far as he knew, there had been none. What would the Rebel - The Alliance's – success mean for the future?

Weariness had replaced the resignation in the woman's face. "I see a great chaos coming. The Empire, with all its faults, kept the peace between peoples with age-old feuds. It kept the trade lanes free from raiders. It paid at least lip service to education and civility. It stood between civic order and mob barbarity. And now there's nothing to stop it." She looked up at him – an expression he recognized, yet had never seen on her face before. "And I don't know what to do."

_The Death Star has cleared the planet! The Death Star has cleared the planet!_  
>Princess Leia once wore the same expression of bewildered despair. And Threepio understood their shared emotion: the sense of helplessness when confronted with the loss of their lives' purpose– and of their the lives themselves. Strange, that this moment of crisis should be the fulfillment of the one woman's hopes; and the dashing of the other's. He stood, awkward, wishing for some words of comfort; yet he knew there would be none for the idealistic lieutenant.<p>

But she had expected none. Her head sank to her hand once more. As she closed her eyes, the communicator buzzed. Automatically, she picked it up.

"Yes?"

"What do you mean, 'Yes?' What kind of answer is that!" It was the voice of Major Jon. "What are _you_ so worked up about?"

Her face flashed impatience. "Well, the fact that the government's been knocked over _is_ a little disappointing,"

"Aw, nuts!" His voice was thick with contempt. "I thought you were smarter than that! This is the best thing that could have happened!"

Miss Laurie's look of speechless mystification was more eloquent than words. Even Threepio was startled, but at the man's brusqueness. Though, he recalled with a wince, he had not been much gentler with her, earlier that week, over some misplaced requisitions. But maybe there was a higher purpose behind her supervisor's manner.

By now, Miss Laurie ha found her voice. "Now just how in blazing sunshine does _that_ figure?"

"Come on, Laurie, think! And put this on speaker: that orderly of yours ought to hear this."

"I think he overestimates my capacity," the droid muttered, stepping closer. Miss Laurie's distrustful frown changed to a wry smile.

"I think you understand more than you think you do." She pressed the speaker button.

"Okay – can you hear me?" Unconsciously, the pair nodded. "Now, what was bad about today's news?"

"The central political authority was killed."

"And what was good about it?"

The woman thought a moment. "Same thing. The political authority was tyrannical, and the people with the authority were just plain evil."

"So what are you complaining about?"

Miss Laurie huffed with irritation. "What's going to hold the government together?

"The bureaucracy," Threepio whispered to her.

"Say it louder," Major Jon ordered.

"The bureaucracy, sir. If I understand your meaning, the bureaus can – and will – function without a political leader. Too many worlds are dependent on their services."

"Right! The one remnant of the Republic that even the Emperor couldn't erase. He's got more sense than you are, kiddo," the man added, for Miss Laurie's benefit.

"That's not news," she sniffed, with a smile. "But what's going to keep the peace on all those disbanded worlds now?"

"Are you asking me who will 'serve and protect'?"

The woman was frowning again, but this time with interest. "The police?" Before the man could answer, she intoned softly, "The Thin Blue Line between Civilization and Barbarism."

"Exactly. And from what did they learn how to do it?"

Her eyes sparkled with understanding. "The mobile training teams!"

"Now you get it. Now the _Law_ is the emperor. And we're the inner counsel! So stop whining and get to work: we've got a galaxy to protect!"

By now she was eagerly leaning forward in her chair. Suddenly, she drooped, and doubt chilled her smile. "But who's going to pay to keep the units going? We may be liberated, but we aren't free."

"What's the matter? Getting mercenary? The funding will come from the same place it's been coming for years: the worlds that charter us. It's their training fees that have kept the units going all this time, not the government grants."

"But what of…" Threepio began, then caught himself. The fate of the Alliance naturally had stirred him, but it had been careless of him to speak of it, even incompletely. But Jon seemed to understand what he had nearly said.

"They won't stand in the way of progress." The major's voice was reassuring, yet held a note of regret. "Anybody who looks for guidance from a dagoba is only asking for trouble. Say, Laurie," he interjected, "If you and your buddies are looking for something to pray about, why don't you pray for them. They'll need it."

The woman's face had grown sober as Major Jon spoke. Threepio had seen that look before: whenever preference and duty were in conflict. He knew she had little fondness for the tactics of the Alliance, but he felt certain her better nature would be interceding for them presently. He returned his attention to the intercom.

"I can hear you stewing things over. When you're done, buzz me and pull up whatever you've got on – " He named the training team's next scheduled assignment.

"I'll get right on it." Her hand hovered over the connection button, and then she added, "Thanks for the encouragement."

"Advocating is my job." With a click and a hum, the connection was broken. Miss Laurie leaned back in her chair, and looked up at Threepio.

"Maybe it s not the end of the world after all."

"Of course not. It never was." His own remark startled him. Had it been the Empire itself he had learned to hate, or the brutal representatives who had so misused their authority? He recognized the justice of Miss Laurie's observation that the Empire had kept a semblance of peace in places where hostility had been a tradition. As he thought about it, it seemed to him that the Alliance's purpose was to retain the peace, but without the oppression. Though a droid would remain a servant regardless of who controlled the government, the personal comfort of the masters could made a droid's service heavy or light. Oppressed masters invariably took out their frustration on their droids. Maybe this really was the best thing that could have happened: now the Empire and the Alliance were working toward the same ends. He found himself wondering – hoping – the Rebellion would recognize their shared goals.

He glanced over at the lieutenant. She still gazed at the intercom, looking chastised, but pleased. "Well, you heard Jon: Civilization is depending on us." She took a deep breath. "So, what have we got on…" Her voice trailed off. "That's odd: Jon's never called me 'kiddo' before." She chuckled a little. "It was the only childhood nickname I actually liked. And what's a dagoba?"

"It's a kind of a shrine. It most frequently refers to a to low, mound -shaped structure that houses the mortal remains of saints of certain religious sects." He paused, then recalled, "Dagobah is also the name of one of the unexplored planetary systems."

"Oh. That's interesting. I wonder what made him think of that." By now, Miss Laurie was compiling the list Major Jon had requested. But Threepio could tell her thoughts were still on his pep talk. She mused aloud, "Funny – I don't know why I should think of it now, but the tombs were where that Gadarene demoniac2 was said to live." She shivered. "Dagobah. It even sounds nasty. No wonder no one wants to explore it." Abruptly, she stopped typing, and looked at the ceiling. "Getting guidance from the tomb, hm? Now that I think of it, that's what finally brought down King Saul, too."

"At Endor," Threepio said softly.

"Yes; at Endor. Hey, you're good!" She smiled, "Most people don't even remember that king, let alone the. ." She stopped. "Endor was the name of the place where the Emperor was killed," she finished, in an awed voice.

"I know. It's uncanny."

The woman nodded slowly. "And kind of creepy, too. Do you think there's a connection?"

"I don't know." But he suddenly felt unaccountably anxious for the welfare of Master Luke. The woman's own expression had grown apprehensive.

"I don't think it's a connection the Empire planned. And I think the Rebellion _is_ in terrible trouble." She leaned back in her chair. "That's another funny thing: Jon's never asked me to pray for anyone before. I wonder what made him think of it." Miss Laurie's gaze drifted around the library. Then, she sat bolt upright, her face twisted with incredulity. "Ferguson," she hissed, "Come over here. Look in the corner."  
>Considering all the strange things that had happened in the past moments, Threepio expected the vision that so alarmed her to be at least a glowing fog of ectoplasm, but it was only Major Jon reading in an armchair …<p>

_Major Jon! What was _he_ doing there!_

"Did you hear him come in?" Miss Laurie whispered. Still staring at the man, Threepio shook his head. "Neither did I. But how could he get here so quickly? If he had been here all along, we would have heard him." She looked up at the droid uneasily. "That _was_ Jon on the intercom, wasn't it?

"It certainly sounded like him." They watched as the man in the armchair flipped through the report, oblivious to their stares. "Do you want to ask him?"

The woman shook her head. "I'm not sure I want to know." She leaned close to the droid and murmured. "Is it just me, or are you starting to feel creepy, too?"

Threepio had to admit that the mysterious conversation was becoming one of the weirdest experiences he had ever had, yet the calm it had brought remained. Did he feel uneasy? "No," he finally answered, honestly. "No, I still feel assured. Because what that voice said was true."

* * *

><p>And so the days passed. The dawn of the new era looked very much like one more sunset of the last, for, just as Major Jon (or whoever it was) had predicted, the bureaucracy flourished in the leaderless Empire. The <em>Vigilant<em> continued its circuit of training sessions at the various contracting systems. And even some non-contracting systems. Though the Emperor was gone, the authority exerted by the Empire extended to its agents, like the Law Enforcement Training Units. Systems with leaders that might, without intervention, prefer a hard-handed method of peacekeeping soon found themselves compelled to direct their enforcement officers in ways that protected the orderly, and restrained the lawless. Of course, it took more than laws and enforcement to initiate social change. But the trainers, and their growing body of students, did their part to prepare the communities they served, to govern themselves with justice and kindness.

For the first time, Threepio felt the strain of conflicting loyalties relax. Gradually, but with greater speed than he could possibly have expected, sections of the Empire had begun to change their ways to those the Alliance had fought to restore. It seemed strange to think of the two contradictory forces growing complementary. Yet, his captivity tormented him all the more. His programming and training should have guaranteed him an important role in establishing the universal liberation. But, instead – well, there were books to be shelved.

One day, he commented on the insignificance of their activities. Miss Laurie smiled and looked at the ceiling. "Insignificant events have big consequences. You're doing small things well to insure wonderful results later." By now, he was used to her whimsical philosophy. He should have known better than to expect sympathy. But she surprised him. She swung around in her chair and asked, "Say, Ferguson, would you really like to do something momentous? How would you like to be a lieutenant?"

"I expect it's better than being a henchman or a stooge. What mischief are you plotting?"

She laughed. "I'm serious. The Director thinks the promotion process is rigged, so he's trying to raise as many applicants as possible. I've already taken the test once myself. Why don't you take a crack at it? I'll be glad to pull it up for you."

"You know very well I can't type on your keyboard." He raised his hands, and wiggled his thick, stiff fingers at her. "I was made for talking, not typing. Besides, this is hardly the time to pull pranks on the Ministry of Colonial Oversight."

She didn't seem to hear him. Instead, she stood up, and made room for him at the workstation. "I did think about how you'd fill in the blanks. That voice activation program is still on the workstation. Let's give it a workout." She took his place at the worktable. "Look at it this way: you'll be doing a service to all the other applicants: you might improve the curve." With a toss of her head, she added, "Besides, it might be fun to see what happens…"

_Fun to see what happens_! She may have lacked Artoo's daring, but there were times when she shared his curiosity, and penchant for courting trouble!

Yet she could be unaccountably timid, too. Such as the time the Director decided, for once, the instructors of his team should be allowed to attend the Annual Convocation of Training Units. A fine decision, too: the trainers had long needed the refreshment of sharing experiences with their own kind, and the exposure to new ideas. But the order was, what might be called, an unfunded mandate. The Unit would pay the registration fee, but attendance would be on their own time, at their own expense. Threepio thought of Miss Laurie. She had been passing on every liberty she had been allotted. And the time in space was taking its toll…

"Kennet is a liberty planet. Have you considered using some of your vacation time? The sunlight would do you a lot of good. You haven't been off this ship in at least two years and, well, I hesitate to mention it, but your work si starting to show the strain."

"I'm fine," she said, as she reached for a pen from the pencil cup, and knocked it over in the process. As she put it back to rights, she pointed out, "For that matter, you've been here almost as long as I have. Does it bother you?"

"No!" Threepio lied emphatically. She gave him a disbelieving grimace. "But I was made for this kind of work: you weren't. Besides," he added cautiously, 'I've heard you mention a number of sites you would like to see on Kennet. The Training Team will be in the system a couple of months. You aren't likely to have such an opportunity again."

"I don't speak the language," she muttered.

"That's rubbish! Of course you do! The accent of the primary tongue may be a little different, but even the slang is similar. If you should tour the hinterlands, you would even have a chance to practice your Hykogi. Really, Miss Laurie, you're not making any sense. You know you need a vacation." The woman merely hung her head.

"I know better than to argue with you." She looked at the pen, then the droid, then the pen again. Finally she admitted, "I'd like to see Kennet -"

"-Then why don't you?-"

"I guess I'm scared. I've never been to Kennet before."

She looked so dejected, he almost pitied her; but her reasoning still mystified him. "Isn't that all the more reason to go?"

"You've seen me in action. I don't like surprises, and I don't like going into situations where I don't know exactly what to expect. It may be a liberty system, and it may be a conference venue, but it's still a strange place."

So that was it! His pity was rapidly changing to impatience. "But you aren't going to a strange place. You know many of the scheduled lecturers; and as I recall, you correspond with the conference organizer," Threepio had observed long ago that the politically influential officers of the training team often underestimated Miss Laurie's personal influence with major practitioners in their field. Thanks to her professional diligence, she was on good terms with scholars, lecturers, authors, and even the leader of the association sponsoring the conference. "If I may say so, attending that event would be roughly equivalent to going home."

Miss Laurie sighed deeply. "I do have another reason, but it sounds too silly."

Evidently, she had not noticed the absurdity of her previous excuses. "Just how silly?" the droid inquired impatiently. But there was something about how she looked at the floor, and the way she fidgeted with her pen… He leaned closer, and said in a low voice, "Just how _serious_?"

"I'm not seeing very well."

Was that all? Although Threepio's medical knowledge was limited, he did know that most human optical conditions could easily be repaired. But he caught himself before so dismissing her anxiety, as the woman explained, "It's a degenerative condition. I knew about before I joined up, but it wasn't causing problems then. But now…" She sighed again. "I haven't any night vision, I'm starting to get distortion, I can't read small type any more." She turned away. "The only treatment is more magnification and disability retirement. I've only been able to save about five thousand credits fo far, and I can't very well retire on that."

Threepio watched her for a moment. "Have you told Major Jon?"

"He's known about it, but he doesn't know it's getting worse." She gave an ironic chuckle. "It's a maudlin, silly, melodramatic situation; but I figure I'd better get as much done here as I can, while I'm still able to do it. So Kennet will have to wait."

Threepio scanned the handful of recruits and crewmen seated about the reading room. They went on with their studying, their note-taking, their conversations, as if nothing had changed. For them, nothing had. He looked back at the spirit of the library, who still sat at her workstation, with her face uncomfortably close to the monitor. Her recent clumsiness was beginning to make sense. With tight lips and firm jaw, she resolutely continued to scan the resource lists. In her mind, the discussion was closed. Still watching her, he stepped to a table an instructor had recently abandoned. Putting to rights the untidy strew of books and notes would distract his anxious thoughts. Before he could begin, however, a drone slipped through the entry, with the day's assortment of directives and communications. He intercepted the unit, completing its delivery himself. As he glanced through the items, one in particular caught his attention.

"Miss Laurie —"She looked up as he set the collection next to her keyboard. "I can't help but think that your primary reason for avoiding the conference is the very reason you _should_ attend." Her quizzical frown encouraged him to go on. "For one thing, the events won't require you to do any unescorted travel or excessive reading, so your secret will remain one." From her expression, he could see she was considering his argument. "And, more importantly, you will be able to make contacts with colleagues who should be able to help you find a suitable position when – arm – if you must resign this one."

She drummed her finders on the keyboard. "I never thought of it that way." She sighed regretfully. "But I don't know what we're discussing anyway: the registration deadline was last week."

"Arm…You'd best check your messages."

She glanced at him with curious suspicion, then rifled through the pile the droid had deposited beside her. As she pulled an odd-shaped envelope from the stack, she glared indignantly, and glared at him. But her dismay was quickly dissolved in laughter.

"Now how did you manage this!" She waved the conference reservation packet at him.

"I assumed you would not fill out the conference application without prodding, so, while I was completing that promotion exam, I took advantage of the voice activation program to submit it for you." The woman muttered something under her breath. "You aren't really angry, are you?

"No – of course not. I'm just disgusted I didn't do it myself." She laughed again. "Well, 'Scorn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!' What's a life savings and a month of vacation time in my young life!"

"One of the best investments of time you've ever made."

* * *

><p>"Do you have everything? Your registration passes? Your identification papers? Your dress and undress uniforms? Your business cards?" Threepio could hardly keep pace with the woman as she hurried toward the sallyport. Convincing Miss Laurie to change her habits was harder than turning a destroyer in hyperspace, but once she set her mind to planning her adventure, there was no holding her back.<p>

"I even remembered my toothbrush and my crocheting!" She stopped to adjust the strap on her duffle bag. "I almost hate to admit it, but I think I'm going to enjoy this."

"Of course you will! What did you expect! Just don't be afraid to ask for help, and don't be afraid to mingle." He thrust a handful of flyers toward her." Here. You did forget your activity packet. Now, you should be there for the Governor's Birthday celebration. The Household Guard will parade, and you would enjoy the spectacle."

As she packed the brochures in her handbag, Miss Laurie began to sing softly, "The King's Horses, the King's men3, March down the street and they march back again. The King's horses and the king's – Hey, that's my foot you're stepping on!"

"Ye-es," Threepio said dryly, now that he had her attention, "While you're in the capital, you can forget you know that song." Knowing her as he did, he quickly added, "And when you visit Galoga's Tomb, don't you dare ask if he's dead!4"

Miss Laurie chuckled self-consciously. "I can't fool you, Mr. Ferguson."

"No, you can't; so don't try." He stepped back and looked her over. Her new dress uniform was still crisply pressed, the hat – the cover – sat properly on her head, her pumps were mirrorlike. Yes, she would do. "Now, learn what you can at the training conference," his voice grew gentler, "And have a good time. Kennet is a lovely place." The woman's expression, however, had grown dubious.

"I'll try. But I still wish you were going. I bet I'll spend the whole time either in the conference hall or my hotel room."

Threepio shook his head in irritation. "If I find out you did, I promise you, I'll castigate you severely! Now, off with you."

He watched her stride toward the sallyport. If she still had any anxieties, they did not show in her walk. But, whether she thought so or not, she needed to get away. From a neglectful crew, from the uncertainties of ministry politics, from days indistinguishable from each other…from himself. He had to admit the attention flattered him, but, he also had to acknowledge regretfully that, when an organic developed an excessive personal attachment to a mechanical, at the expense of beings of its own kind, it could only lead to trouble. She needed to be with her own kind. Besides, for him, Kennet was – but, even now, he stifled such recollections. He turned, and made his way down the corridor to …where?

Her absence, he now realized, did present a problem. What _should_ he do for the next month? The library was closed and locked for the period of its librarian's absence. He could get in, of course – mimicking the wavelength of the unlock code was no trick – but a month isolated in that gloomy cavern was not an appealing prospect. Well, it might afford him a chance to perform some data defragmentation and memory optimization; functions he had considered too risky to undergo since his — his confiscation. It would be too easy for investigators to take advantage of his unconscious vulnerability. He wondered whether anyone even suspected he was Rebel contraband. Or, he thought ruefully, whether the information he protected was even relevant any more. So much had happened in those past few years.

He turned a corner. And what about the drone pool? He gathered that his alias operating number had been permanently assigned to the library; but, if the library was closed, would he not be expected to report to the storage hall? A revolting prospect! And one fraught with peril of discovery. He could see that his confidential information still had value; perhaps not to Imperial interrogators bent on destroying the Reb – the Alliance, but certainly for the uncovering of what might be considered a traitorous plot to withhold intelligence. The droid's pace slowed as he recalled the unfortunate Al's funeral. The penalty for the two remaining conspirators could easily cause them to envy his state.

No matter what he chose, the next month would prove extremely uncomfortable. Whether it wold be good for the woman's mental state or not, and regardless of what returning to Kennet might mean for him, he found himself wishing he _had_ accompanied her. And what of the future? Her revelation about her infirmity had jarred him more than he cared to admit. Until then, he had never given any thought to a future without Miss Laurie's 's well-meaning protection. What if she _was_ forced into retirement; or what if something befell her? Organics may have willing, mighty spirits, but they are notoriously fragile organisms. What would he do without her/ What _could_ he do?

Unconsciously, his pace slowed. As it did, he became aware of footsteps behind him, matching his cadence. He turned to find Major Jon following him.

"Did Lieutenant Marton get off all right?" He was watching the droid, hands clasped behind his back, with a curious, knowing eye. that made Threepio feel uncomfortable.

"Yes, sir. I just left her." The man's gaze did not shift. "She appeared thoroughly prepared for her conference."

"If she doesn't fall over something. She's no good in the dark." Threepio started. So Miss Laurie's secret was no secret from her superior officer. The man added, "And she's such a 'mark,' even _I'd_ rob her."

"Kennet is a reasonably law-abiding place. She'll be quite safe," the droid said, watching the man for any signal of what he _really_ wanted to know. He added, "Besides, if I may, how much danger could she face? She'll be surrounded by police officers."

At that, the man burst out laughing. "You're on your game today! But," he continued, recovering his composure, "I've got a problem about you, and I'm not sure what to do about it"

The empty library or the forbidding drone pool: to which would he order him? "I understand, sir." With difficulty, he kept the resigned tone from his voice. "Where would you assign me?"

"The sallyport." Threepio stared in amazement, not sure he had heard correctly. The man's eyes twinkled as he held out the envelopes he had been concealing. One was small and businesslike, possibly containing some legal document. The other was larger, and bulky. "Give these to Laurie. The fat one concerns you." He thrust them into the droid's hand. "They're holding the shuttle for you."

"For me? For a droi– For a drone?"

The wry, knowing look remained in the man's eyes. "Just tell them you're Ferguson, ans see what happens."

"Yes, sir." Astonished, Threepio hurriedly retraced his steps. As he rounded the corner to the embarkation port, the attending drone challenged him.  
>"Name?"<p>

As instructed, Threepio answered, "Ferguson" The drone looked at him, then at the clipboard it held, then at Threepio again.

Again, it challenged, uncertainly, "Name?"

"Ferguson."

"Welcome aboard, sir," the unit replied. It stood aside as Threepio passed over the loading bridge, into the cabin of the shuttle. Several of the passengers – instructors heading for the conference and senior crew on leave – looked up, then returned their attention to their magazines and conversations. Threepio remembered that a number of the drones had been requisitioned for use during the Kennet training events, so his appearance should not have been a surprise. Of course! That must have been how Major Jon arranged to get him off the ship! He should have realized it sooner. He edged his way past the passengers toward the cargo cell, when an attending drone stopped him.

"Your seat is here, sir." It motioned toward an empty spot next to – it was no surprise – next to Miss Laurie. It had to be a mistake, but the drone was insistent. "Here, sir,." It repeated. The woman watched, incredulous, as he eased himself into the space beside her.

"Why, Ferguson! What are you doing here?" she whispered.

"I'm obeying Major Jon's orders; but as for the reason for this," he pointed to the seat, " I'm at a loss myself." Several of the officers frowned at him, but he ignored their indignant looks. He turned to Miss Laurie, and handed her the mysterious envelopes. "He said one of these concerns me."

"Well," she sighed expectantly, as she opened the small one," It can't be anything serious or you wouldn't be here. What have we got?" She pulled a folded sheet of stiff paper from the crackling envelope. "This one isn't it: this concerns me…" She peered at the small type .

"Would you like me to read it?"

"No I can see it. It says…" Her hands fell to her lap, and she leaned back in the seat. "I don't believe it! After all this time!" Threepio leaned over to look at the message. The letterhead described some attorney's office. As he scanned down the page, he caught the words, "The portion of the estate, after taxes, which has been transferred to your account amounts to…"

"Fifty thousand credits!" Miss Laurie exclaimed. "This is from the law firm that had been handling my parents' and grandparents' affairs. I hadn't heard anything from them, so I assumed all the family assets went to pay the debts." She repeated softly, "Fifty thousand credits!"

"You're a woman of means now. Congratulations!."

By now Miss Laurie was laughing quietly, "And I was worried about something to retire on. It just goes to show: He cares for the lilies of the field,5 He'll look after you! I'll look at the rest of it later." The larger envelope rattled as she leaned over to slip the letter in her bag.

"This one must be mine."

"I can hardly wait to find out!" She ran her finger under the flap, and shook it into her lap. Several strips of soutache fell out. She and the droid looked at each other, then back at the strips.

"They look like stripes of rank," Threepio observed. Miss Laurie ran her hand inside the envelope, pulling out a large slip of parchment. When she saw it, she began to laugh again.

"That's exactly what they are! Look!" She passed him the certificate.

Threepio read, "Be it known to all peoples that… I don't believe it!" He stared at Miss Laurie. She beamed knowingly. "…That C. P. Ferguson is elevated to the rank of First Lieutenant in the service of the Starfleet of the Empire, with all the rights and responsibilities this rank entails…" He shook his head, overwhelmed. "It's ludicrous! It's impossible! It's …"

"It's magnificent! Now' you're an officer _and_ a gentleman. The Director should be pleased to know that the promotion process isn't tainted."

"Tainted! A droid as a ranking officer! Imagine: it just isn't…It's simply. .! Lieutenant Ferguson," he echoed. An official memo was clipped to the commission, giving orders that Lieutenant Ferguson was granted a month's leave on Kennet, beginning immediately. Be it ludicrous or impossible, it was real. Shaking his head, he latched his seat belt.

_All passengers must secure loose items, in preparation for disengagement._

In response to the announcement, Miss Laurie slipped the commission in her bag. "Lieutenant Ferguson. It has a reliable ring to it. Congratulations!" A convulsion of giggles seized her. "You know what this means, don't you?"

"The Director will have our heads on a pike when he finds out?":

"No." the woman replied, as the familiar quiver of free fall ran through the shuttle. "It means you can scold me any time you want now. You outrank me!"

Threepio merely sank back in his seat and groaned softly, "Oh, my!"

* * *

><p>Notes:<p>

1I Samuel, Chapter 28.

2Mark 5:1-20

3Notes and lyrics of "The Kings Horses and the King's Men":  . 

4"Is he Dead?" Twain, Mark. _Innocents Abroad _(1869)

5Matthew 6:28


	9. Chapter 9

IX – Opportunity

Would that ye always shown, who write,  
>Bathed in your own innate limelight<br>And ye who battles wage.  
>Or that in darkness I had died<br>Before my soul had ever sighed  
>To see you off the stage!<br>W. S. Gilbert (_Disillusioned, by an Ex Enthusiast_)t

* * *

><p>Kennet: a world of diverse climates and multiple cultures. An ideal liberty port. Compared with its sister planet Threnet, which shared Kennet's orbit, a veritable paradise! There was something to suit every taste. Tropical islands studding sapphire seas, old growth forests and veldt for the sportsmen; snow-tipped mountains to please cold-weather fanciers, and numerous urban centers, offering shopping, cultural venues, and vibrant night life. And shopping. Its capital, also named Kennet, was not its largest city, but its location – where the agricultural, mining, and industrial regions overlapped – had made it the ideal site for mercantile and political cooperation. It was a comparatively new city, barely two centuries old, but it already offered fine examples of classic, as well as modern architecture, not to mention many colorful residential neighborhoods museums, galleries, theaters, and, of course, shopping districts.<p>

So said the tourist brochure. But Threepio knew Kennet for one other feature: a Rebel stronghold.

Originally, the Alliance had intended to make its base on Threnet its central headquarters. The parched, mountainous terrain was inhospitable enough to discourage any observation. Camouflaged in a valley that could be reached only by air, it had been an ideal site. That is, until the avalanche. Threepio remembered hearing about it, not long before his – his confiscation. He had been relieved to learn that the personnel had been evacuated safely to the Alliance transfer hub on Kennet; but equipment, armament, and …and the lab, had been lost, buried under a hundred meters of rock. It had been a considerable setback.

The droid had to admit, though, that the loss of the Threnet base had not distressed him as much as perhaps it should. Although the details had never been discussed openly in his presence, he had come to understand that the primary activity of the Threnet lab had been research on the weaponization of biological agents. To loose on intelligent organisms a disease for which they had no resistance, and potentially to cause an epidemic among local non-combatants, had always seemed to him a pitiless act, not at all in keeping with the Alliance's ideals. But the laboratory and its sinister cultures lay safely buried in that inaccessible valley.

From snatches of information he was able to glean, Threepio concluded that , instead of forsaking the system, the Rebels had shifted their work to Kennet. The abandoned mines, in the foothills just beyond its capitol, had been an ideal site for hiding what he was certain had become a major intelligence conduit. He recalled the time he had spent there, chauffeuring informants to and from the underground base, translating directives, and delivering messages in Kennet's main shopping district, completely unnoticed by the patrolling Imperial forces. It had been a terrifying, thrilling time!

But it reminded Threepio of a certain social custom he was certain Miss Laurie would not like. The culture on Kennet was dignified, gracious, and, to organics, respectful. Mechanicals, however, were, at best, tolerated as helpful devices, but nothing more. He remembered stumbling down back alleys with Artoo-Detoo, because they were not allowed on the main streets without an escorting master. Unless the situation had changed considerably, the only units that could function unhampered were the company of street cleaning robots. Throughout the night, the dome-shaped sweepers not only kept the streets and walking paths clean, but reported any suspicious loiterers. Even he had barely escaped being reported as a vagrant unit on several occasions. Well, maybe Kennet's inhabitants had grown more enlightened since he had last been there. But he resigned himself to traveling the alleys, and waiting with other attendant units while their masters took in the sights of the city.

Still, Kennet was a civilized, pleasant world. He watched Miss Laurie crane her neck for a peek through the porthole. If he could drag her away from the officers' hotel, she should have a fine adventure to remember for the rest of her days.

The amenities were not lavish, but the hotel room was more than adequate. The main door opened into a small sitting room, suitable for private meetings and public hospitality. Along the beige wall were several nondescript art prints, and doors to the washroom and the bedroom. "And three's a window, too!" Miss Laurie sang out as she dropped her duffle on the settee. "Look at that! You can see all the way to the mountains!"

Threepio looked over her shoulder at the view. "They're farther away then they appear. This building is tall, and sits on a hill. The city itself is on a plateau. See those flashes? Those are vehicles on the highway that follows its edge. \From there, it makes its way to the desert, and then, to the mountains." The setting sun perched between two of the peaks, bronzing the roofs of the homes on the outskirts, and transforming the road into glittering gold braid.

That reminded him. "I overheard the desk clerk asking about Lieutenant Ferguson. What did you tell him?"

"He had said the hotel was overbooked, and I said Lieutenant Ferguson could bunk with me." She motioned toward her handbag on the table. "Your keycard's in the outside pocket."

He knew he would not like the answer, but he asked anyway. "I could see there was more to the conversation: what else did you say?"

"He asked if Lieutenant Ferguson had arrived, I said yes. That reminded me," she digressed, " we'd better go check in at the conference before we do anything else. Anyway," she continued, "He said something about there being only one bed – is that the bedroom over there?" She asked, pointing to the door on the far side of the settee.

"Yes. Now finish your story." Threepio urged her, "I'm dreading to hear how you accounted for me."

"Well, he asked about the bed, I said one would be enough, he looked scandalized and asked if Lieutenant Ferguson was a woman. I leaned close, and whispered that he was a droid. He looked at me like I was a nut…"

"As would anyone," Threepio sighed. "What _am_ I going to do with you, Miss Laurie!"

"…Then I started to laugh, and reminded him the room had a sofa. He laughed and gave me the keys. So there!" She moved from the window and stretched herself on the settee. "You can have the bed."

"Don't be silly. And – I fear I should have told you this earlier: don't joke about mechanicals while we're here." She looked at him quizzically as he explained the world's prevailing attitude toward his kind. By the time he finished, she had taken off her shoes, and put on an indignant scowl.

"That's ridiculous! Why would they do that?"

Threepio glanced out the window. The sun had slipped behind the mountains. They now resembled a rent in a pink and scarlet drape. "I think it had to do with some unpleasantness involving the large mining units. They were so big, and so taken with their ability to bore through stone that they became, well, uncooperative1. They finally reached the point where they endangered the masters themselves,. So, they were destroyed, with no little difficulty. I expect the people of Kennet would prefer not to repeat the experience." He turned toward the window. "So be careful what you say and do. It will keep my position here from becoming too uncomfortable."

Miss Laurie looked at him with curious sympathy. "I'm very sorry, and will try to be have myself." She reached up and switched on the floor lamp. "You seem to know a lot about this place. Have you been here before?"

"And there's another thing I must warn you about. Don't ask me too many questions." He turned from the window to see her gazing pensively at her shoes. "Oh, now: it' snot as bad as all that. Why don't you put those back on, and go get your conference materials."

She slipped on her pumps and retrieved her handbag. "Do you want to come along?"

"I'll follow you presently. Lieutenant or not, I expect to find myself assigned to the drone pool. A situation to which I have no objection," he added quickly, catching sight of the look on Miss Laurie's face. "You will have a fine time, an informative conference, and –" he couldn't resist added, "and if word gets out about your roommate, a reputation!"

With a chuckle, Miss Laurie swept from the room. Threepio stole a last glimpse from he window. Below, the lights of the city glittered with evening activity. In the distance, the mountains were nearly invisible. But he knew they were there. To the south, in the foothills, had been the mines. In those abandoned tunnels were Rebels, also invisible. But, again, he knew they were there.

Miss Laurie was in her element! She chatted, she advised, she related, she networked. She negotiated for new library materials from dealers, she collected training ideas for Major Jon. Threepio often saw her flitting from session to session, as he performed the supporting functions with the drones. He directed, he explained, he delivered, he even interpreted! One of the instructors pressed his hand gratefully after he cajoled a holoprojector into cooperating with his recorded demonstration. In the evenings, they had much to discuss.

Only two shadows marred the droid's satisfaction with his scheme to force her to mingle. One he knew he should have expected. In the evenings, most of her set would explore the night life of Kennet City's unrestricted zone. Miss Laurie did not – and would not– patronize such establishments. Knowing her tastes and her temperament as he did, he could understand her reserve. The other problem was easier to solve…

"I love my uniform, but I felt like a fussy old wet blanket when everyone else had on their sport clothes," she complained , upon returning from touring Galega's Tomb.

"You're a well-propertied woman now, and you have a free afternoon; why don't you buy some?" he replied,

The woman crossed her arms and sniffed. "Where would you suggest? I've seen the trendy couture in the shopping district. It looks unflattering and uncomfortable, and you'd be embarrassed to be seen with me in that get-up!"

Threepio interrupted her dudgeon. "Before you get too exercised, I know a place that specializes in classic styles that would suit both your figure and your tastes. Especially your tastes. If I have nothing scheduled I'll take you there myself."

It proved to be a quiet afternoon at the conference, and a long walk to the edge of the unrestricted zone. As the pair strolled through the streets, Miss Laurie commented on the number of mechanicals they passed.

"From what I understand, many of the inhabitants of Kennet City rely on their assistance. Their concern is for them to know their place; and respect that of their masters."

"I would have thought they would do that anyway."

"A normal, well-adjusted droid would. But, as a precaution, the custom is that unattended units are not permitted on the streets." He stopped in front of a bright little storefront, with a demure blue suit in the window. "I'm sure you'll find something here you'll like. I'll wait for you in the back." Miss Laurie watched him as he stepped toward the driveway between the shop and its neighbor. He turned back, and called, "Don't be distressed: I'm used to this. And, if you're very good, I know an antiquarian bookshop in the next street that could overload the capacity of your salon!" She managed a weak smile as she pushed open the door. From the shadows, Threepio heard its bell tinkle.

The space between the buildings was just wide enough for a van to pass, but the alley behind them, which was shared by the businesses facing the opposite street, was sufficiently roomy to accommodate storage sheds and rubbish containers, along with their delivery vehicles. Some of the lots even had small grassy lawns. The dress shop had evidently been doing some renovation. A large dumpster had been placed at the back of its lot. Battered clothes racks and wooden studs jutted from its top. Nearby, propped against the refuse bin enclosure, was a large shattered mirror. It had probably been too heavy for the workmen to slide into the dumpster without help. Otherwise, the alley had not changed.

He knew this place well. Across the alley, and over one space was the bookstore he had mentioned to Miss Laurie. He leaned against the front of the dumpster, and gazed nostalgically at the back door of that shop. In the patch of grass and pavement behind it, an astromech droid hummed cheerfully as it puttered with the engine of a small delivery van. _What would Miss Laurie say if she knew the bookshop was an Alliance communications hub?_ He recalled the afternoons he had spent in its back room, crowded with cheap thrillers and the wisdom of the ages, translating directives into the varied codes and languages of the local operatives. Even now, the odor of paper sizing and old leather took him back to those tense, exciting days. In a way, they had been like so many of the classics the shop stocked: fragile observations filled with urgency, yet bound with confident dignity. Yes, there was something reassuring about a fine book with a beautiful binding…

He thought in amusement how Miss Laurie's whimsey was beginning to rub off on him. He remembered how he had despised what had then seemed to be such menial work; but now, he admitted to himself how much he had secretly enjoyed it. That workroom, walled with ideas that had survived both the assault of other conflicts and the whims of time, had seemed a stable point in the change swirling about him.

Those had been happy days.

Idly, he watched the droid inspect the parts of the motor. That van had never run well. Back then, while he had been occupied with the plans of the Alliance, he recalled how Artoo Detoo used to amuse himself by overhauling its engine. If he couldn't coax it into efficiency, nobody could. By now, the shop should be successful enough to afford to replace that old relic. Threepio had never really understood Artoo's fascination with that engine. It had seemed to him to be a waste of an astromech droid's talents to try to refurbish something even a less-sophisticated mech unit would scorn. Yet, he had also admired Artoo's persistence, though he would never have told him so. Wistfully, he wished now that he had.

Threepio stiffened. He looked closely at the little droid with the blue markings, as it adjusted lubricant levels under the chassis. _Merciful power!_ He couldn't be mistaken; that droid _was_ Artoo-Detoo! He leaned against the dumpster for support. He had never expected to see his counterpart again, and there he was, not four meters away. And if Artoo was here, Master Luke must be close by. The wave of hope – the first he had felt since his fatal admission – nearly overwhelmed him, but he kept his footing. _Master Luke could save me from the Empire!_ He had never been fitted with any tracking devices. He knew the shops in this district were connected by a series of delivery tunnels. In the darkness, just beyond the end of the original network, the Alliance had constructed a passage to its base of operations in that abandoned network of mines in the foothills. Master Luke could find a way to spirit him away from the shopping district. "And wouldn't they be surprised to see me after all this time!" he thought. Princess Leia. Chewbacca. Even Captain Solo. He hadn't realized until then just how badly he had missed them. He stepped from behind the dumpster, toward Artoo.

The smaller droid stopped his tinkering, and glanced toward the alley. He had thought he had seen some movement in that direction, but, no, the alley was empty. Mentally, he shrugged, and went on with his work.

Threepio had sunk once more behind the dumpster As he had approached his friend, the broken mirror had reflected the image of an Imperial drone. _And how could I possibly explain that?_ He leaned against the dumpster for support, but this time in despair. He was a traitor, a collaborator, an aider and abettor of an authority that was striving to destroy those he had called friends. The commendations, and the rank he had been awarded, now seemed like mockery. While the Alliance had suffered at the Empire's hands, he had been hidden comfortably as one of those enemies. He looked toward Artoo, then looked away, ashamed. If they remembered him, it would be best that they believed him blasted and buried in the rubble of the Kong base, rather than learn the disgraceful truth. Slowly, he turned away from the familiar scene and moved toward the street.

Abruptly, he stopped. He straightened, and turned back toward Artoo-Detoo. He bore drone casing, yes; but to protect _them_, not himself. As Miss Laurie seemed to delight in reminding him, his compromising revelation had only been made in the hope of returning to those friends. He could almost hear her saying, _"If you're destroyed, they're destroyed._" The black and silver glistened in the afternoon sun. Yes, the casing would be hard to explain, and he might not be given a chance to try. Most likely, an Imperial drone would be shot on sight. But Artoo-Detoo might still recognize him, and intercede for him.

That might not be enough. Most likely, he would be punished; and, yes, he might even have to be deactivated. He considered the unhappy prospect. But wouldn't it be better to be destroyed by one's friends, than to be honored by their enemies? Again, Threepio stepped from behind the dumpster.  
>"Artoo-Detoo! Help me!"<p>

The little droid turned from his work, and looked toward the shop door. Threepio suddenly realized that he had not spoken. Another droid was standing in the doorway, motioning impatiently.

The droid was himself.

"You're always wasting time with that ridiculous pile of scrap when there's work to be done! The translations are ready for distribution." The astromech unit carefully closed the engine compartment, chirping what sounded, even to a non-mechanical, like a snide retort.

"Jealous! I'd prefer the company of Chewbacca with a toothache, you pot-metal Pygmalion!" The smaller droid let fly with a long series of indignant squawks. "Well, you started it," the taller unit concluded in a subdued tone. "You'd better hurry, though. They need this information right away. This time, there's a special job for you. Master Luke will…" The droid trailed off when he caught sight of the Imperial drone standing in front of the dumpster, watching him. "Come along, Artoo," he muttered. He stood aside as the other droid crossed the threshold, then sharply closed the door.  
>Threepio heard the door lock behind them. He continued to stare in disbelief at the spot where they had disappeared. He did not know what to think, but he was sure of what he had seen. What did it mean?<p>

"Hey, you! Mech!" The call distracted him. He turned to see the driver of a refuse collection truck waving to him.

"Yes, sir?"

"You'd better move away from that dumpster: we're going to empty it." The driver then added jokingly, "Unless you were planning on going with it."

"Ferguson! Are you there, Ferguson?" a familiar voice called down the alley.

For a moment, Threepio looked at the dumpster, then at his reflection in the broken mirror. "Thank you, sir." He moved past the truck, toward the street.

But to himself, he said _"Thank you, anyway."_

* * *

><p>Notes:<br>1The Great Heep (1986) /v1syk-_ivNQ


	10. Chapter 10

X – The Changeling

Captive, bound and double-ironed! … Not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one life's opportunity misused! Yet such was I! Oh, such was I!"  
>Marley's Ghost <em>(A Christmas Carol<em>)

And all he things that he portrays  
>Show up my own obnoxious ways.<br>Carroll P. Craig, Sr.1

* * *

><p>"Is anything wrong, Ferguson? You haven't said more than three words together all evening. You haven't even commented on my new dress." Miss Laurie lounged on the sofa, her hands filled with a half-finished doily. The droid looked out the window at the city, and did not answer. The lights seemed a mirror of the stars .that filled the clear sky. But the view did not impress him.<p>

"It's lovely." He said finally.

Miss Laurie set down her handwork. "Now I know something's wrong. I didn't buy anything today." She watched him curiously, and went back to her doily. "If anyone was rude to you, I'm very sorry. You deserve better, and they should know better." He glanced in her direction, then turned back to the window.

"No one was rude – no more than usual."

"Well, something must have happened." She paused, then added, "If you'd rather I dropped the subject, though, I can do that, too." She returned to her crocheting. "It just seems funny talking to the back of your head."

"I _do _have a question." He turned to face her. Miss Laurie put down her handwork and met his gaze. "If you don't wish to tell me, I would underhand; but if you can, I would appreciate a direct and truthful answer." He hesitated a moment, then asked, with a calmness he certainly did not feel, " When I agreed to this - this masquerade – what became of my casing?"

The woman looked at his steadily, her expression unchanged. Her eyes dropped thoughtfully, then she said, "It was put on the unit whose casing you wear now. That droid was then sent to Chenoo , where it was offered for sale. Before he could be traced, the buyer spirited the unit away, and, as far as I know, that was the last anyone heard of it." She took a deep breath, and added, " You should also know that it was my idea. In case something went wrong, it seemed like a better plan for investigators to be looking for a droid sold on Chenoo than for a drone on the _Vigilant_."

"I see." Threepio turned back to the window. The two remained in silence for a long time.

Finally, Miss Laurie said gently, "They must have thought a lot of you to have restored you."

Threepio didn't ask how she knew what he had seen. Based on his question, it had been the logical assumption. But the presence of the – the imposter – led to another logical assumption: one he was sure she had already made.

"Are you going to report it?"

"What's there to report?" she shrugged. "It's common knowledge that the Rebellion is active here. And no, I'm not going to ask where you saw him." So, at least for now, the Alliance was safe.

Her eyes rested on him, but her vision seemed to drift beyond the walls of the sitting room.

"But you're thinking of something." His words restored her focus to the present.

"I am," she admitted, "but it has nothing to do with the Rebels. I was thinking of one of the characters in the old fairy tales." As she explained, the faraway look returned to her eyes. "In many of the stories, when a mortal was taken to Fairyland, a substitute was sent back to the World to take his place. That replacement was called a Changeling." She trailed off, lost in thought, then said, "They were never a good substitute for the original, though. I wonder what _he's_ like."

Threepio started. Miss Laurie looked at him in surprise, as he turned bac to the window. "I'm sorry,' she murmured. "I – I take it you didn't like what you saw."

"It's never pleasant to see yourself as other see you." In the reflection in the windowpane, he saw her smile at his answer. But it was not a happy smile. Thoughtfulness soon replaced it.

"I wonder how they managed it."

"It would have been simple enough. Several months before … Well, several months before, the ROM of all the droids in service was backed up. Reloading it would have been… simple enough." He stood silently for a moment, then added, "As I recall, my first words upon completion were, 'So there's an end to a pointless and unnecessary procedure.'" He looked back toward the woman on the sofa. "When _he_ said that, the technicians probably laughed themselves sick." Mis Laurie smiled again, but this time bit her lip. It was some time before she spoke.  
>"I don't know what you saw, but it might not have been as bad as you think. Or maybe I should say, you aren't as bad as what you thought you saw."<p>

"Now what is that supposed to mean?"

"Well," she began, trying to gather her thoughts, "You probably weren't seeing him at his best. And, although he may be based on you, he isn't you."

Threepio glanced at her impatiently, "Of course he is. Who else would he be?"

"I don't expect he remembers being anyone else; except he has a hole in his memory between the backup and the reload. But – well, what you saw might have more to do with what that unit was before his memory crashed. For instance, my brother and I grew up in the same house, had the same experiences, and knew the same people. But a lot of times, he reacted to them one way, and I responded to them in another. We had the same memories, but we applied them differently."

"Yes, but all the responses he remembers would have been based on mine." He turned away from her again. "I have no illusions. He is I." In spite of the effort it took to make that painful admission, Threepio was amused at the unavoidable awkwardness of the statement. There were some situations that grammar was never meant to describe. Miss Laurie laughed quietly.

"You may be right, but I still think it's what's left of his original programming. Another thing: because he's not you, but imitating you, what you saw was a caricature. He may be trying to out-you you. You know, though," she began carefully, "there's another possibility. A lot can happen in a couple of years. It might be that what you saw wasn't what you are, but what you _could_ have been."

Threepio considered the possibility.

"You remarked, on at least one occasion, how marginalized you felt as the Rebellion spread, and what little respect they had for your experience and knowledge. Maybe what you saw was the result of all that frustration."

"I have never described myself as marginalized," the droid muttered. As he did, he thought, "My stars! She _has _been paying attention!"

"Maybe you never used the word, but that was the idea." The woman said. "You know how insufferable I get when I feel left out. Maybe you caught him on one of those bad days."

Threepio tried to remember the last time Miss Laurie had been insufferable – but, instead, found himself thinking of the blistering scoldings he had given her over trivialities. Perhaps experiences he was unaware of _had_ influenced the imposter's behavior, but he was forced to admit that the flaws of character that caused that behavior were all his own. There was no excusing the substitute's conduct – or his own. He glanced back at the woman, folding her handwork, and laying it on a table. Why did she put up with it? Why would she _choose_ to put up with it?

Miss Laurie covered a yawn. "Is there anything I can do for you?" She inquired slowly, "I can see this might be a bad night for you."

"I'll be all right, but thank you for asking. Why don't you go to bed."

"If you need anything, just call. Good night."

As she reached the bedroom door, though, he stopped her. "Just a moment. There _is_ something you can do." She turned, expectantly. "When I betrayed the Alliance, you could have turned me in for so large a reward that you would never have to have worked again. Can you tell me what you could possibly have seen in me that was worth saving?"

She gazed at the droid intently until he began to feel self-conscious. Yet, her expression was not that of someone looking for an answer, but for a clear way to express one. Finally, she spoke.

"Maybe I shouldn't tell you this, but, when I asked Jon to let me have you for the library, he said, 'Are you sure that's what you want? He looks to me like a real piece of work.'"

Threepio hung his head. "What did _you_ say?"

"I agreed with him. When you're thinking of yourself, I'm afraid you can be quite a pill." With a crooked half-smile, she added, "It hasn't been _my_ influence alone that's kept you from being harassed. But, in a way, that character serves to protect that other character: who you are when you _aren't_ thinking of yourself. Vulgar \eyes see the first, and don't look any further. It was that second, sterling2 character that I saw: someone who would die to everything he held dear, so that they might live in security he would never know himself." She opened the door. "Credits can't buy that. Good night, Ferguson."

As it closed, Threepio turned back to the window. Her answer had stunned him, but, eventually, he discounted it as sentimental flattery. How else could someone mistake necessity for heroism? The lighted windows of the other residential buildings were flickering out, as the families in them retired. Unconsciously, his hand brushed the light switch. The soothing darkness allowed his thought to flow more freely. And, as he stared unseeingly out the window, he had much to think about.  
>But all thoughts seemed to lead back to that droid in his casing. He felt hurt, angry, embarrassed, ashamed, but most of all, lost. <em>Dying to all he held dear<em>. Miss Laurie had been more insightful than she knew. The fact of the substitute had been a tremendous blow. At times when his captivity had weighted heaviest, it had comforted him to think that, somewhere, his friends might be thinking of him fondly. Now he knew that no one had been thinking of him at all, because no one knew he was missing, They had abandoned him, without even knowing it. He had never felt so alone.

And what a replacement! Miss Laurie was right about his being a disappointment, but not for the reason she thought. It wasn't that Threepio had found his conduct so outrageous or unfamiliar; but because he _hadn't_. It was painfully familiar. How could he ever have said such spiteful things to Artoo – the best friend he ever had! Justice drew his gaze to the closed bedroom door. One of them, certainly. Yet, how many times had he passed the same remarks, or worse? He looked down on the street. Several sweeper units rolled slowly along the sidewalk. He watched them until they moved out of view.

The unbearable part was that the abuse had all been lies. He had never meant any of the terrible things he had said. If someone else had so much as hinted such things about Artoo – well – they had just better look out! Why had he never told the little droid what he really thought?

But now another unit had taken his place. Did _he_ appreciate Artoo as he deserved? After that petulant exchange he had witnessed, he wondered. But perhaps that proxy _had_ confided the truth to the little droid after all. Threepio found himself bristling with indignation. The thought of that – that thing – expressing his appreciation to Artoo – appreciation he had no right to express! – was more than he could bear. Yet, if the imposter did not tell him, who would? Threepio realized he had given up any opportunity to make amends when the troopers confiscated him at the Kong base. Gradually, his anger faded to deep, gnawing regret. He was beyond making his own amends.

He thought about the casing the substitute bore. It had been brilliantly polished, but he had noticed scratches that had not been there when he wore it, and spots where fresh dents had once been. The years had not been uneventful for that droid. _What did he bear that I should have borne/ What had he suffered that I should have endured?_ Still, he was clearly well cared-for. Threepio's memory drifted back to something Miss Laurie had said about her dolls:

_A doll doesn't get markings like these from sitting on a shelf. They've been loved._

They've been loved. That unit had been loved. Someone had to have found him and bought him from the mech dealer, at great personal risk. It could have taken weeks to reload his memory. Then there was the reeducation of those missing months, the intermediate repairs, the detailing, the …

He remembered the Kong base, and Chewbacca carrying him from the hangar to the maintenance bay – and how harsh he had been to the wookiee. He wondered how many other times that substitute might have needed the help of that kind, patient creature, and how _he_ had treated him. Did that replacement realize what truly good friends he had?_ Would I have realized what good friends I had?_

Threepio turned away from the window. _That poor, ungrateful wretch!_

"Ferguson."

He was startled to see Miss Laurie standing in the doorway. She still wore her uniform, and judging from its condition, she had not been sleeping. "I thought of something else about changelings that might be important." With an effort for which he could not account, she said, "In the fairy stories, the mortal almost always escapes from the fairies. But time passes differently in Fairyland, and when he finally does return home, his family has died, his friends are gone, and so many things had changed, that he is often worse off than he was with the fairies. But, then again," she concluded hurriedly, "Maybe things won't have changed so much after all. Good night." The door closed, and Threepio was left to his own troubled thoughts.

* * *

><p>Notes<p>

1Composer of the winning entry in the "I Can't Stand Jack Benny Because" contest of 1945: I Can't Stand jack Benny Because  
>He fills the air with boasts and brags, and obsolete obnoxious gags.<br>The way he plays his violin is music's most obnoxious sin.  
>His cowardice alone, indeed, is matched by his obnoxious greed,<br>And all the things that he portrays show up my own obnoxious ways.

2"The Ugly Madonna" in Guareschi, Giovanni. _Don Camillo and his flock_ (New York: Pellegrini 8 Cudahy0 1952.


	11. Chapter 11

XI – The Cracked Pillar

The first night had been long, and te second heavy, but by the third day, Threepio found himself able to think of something besides his unwitting replacement. Thankfully, no other jarring events rattled his days. Even Miss Laurie curbed her volubility, and approached him on verbal tiptoes. He busied himself with his frequent duties as hall attendant for the training sessions. They brought little relief, but at least provided distraction. He couldn't think of his own troubles while he was solving the problems of others.

By the fourth the melancholy began to, if not lift, at least to dissipate. When he checked the calendar for that day's assignment, he noticed something about it – something he was sure Miss Laurie had forgotten. Nothing had been scheduled for him, which gave him an idea.

Miss Laurie herself returned to the room before the lunch hour.

"You're back early," he observed.

"The session I was signed up for was canceled. The others wee either filled, or ones I'd already been to." She tossed her tunic in a chair, and dropped her handbag on the table next to the bouquet. "At that rate, you're back early, too. Why aren't you working the conference?" She sat down heavily on the sofa and took off her pumps.  
>"Same reason. None of the instructors needed my assistance." He watched as she rested her feet on the table by the flowers. "Have you any plans for this afternoon?"<p>

"No. I may just take a nap."

"A nap!" Threepio could not keep the sharpness out of his voice. "You're in a city overflowing with opportunity, and you can think fo sleeping?"

"Well, what else can I do? There aren't any tours scheduled, I've already marched around the unrestricted area so often the street sweepers think I'm a vagrant, I'm out of ideas." She closed her eyes. Then opened them abruptly.

"Where did those flowers come from?" she exclaimed. She stared at the huge bouquet of lilacs sitting before her on the table.

"Do you like them?"

"I love lilacs!" By now, her feet were on the floor, and her face was buried in the fragrant blossoms. "They're my very favorite flower." She sniffed again. "Who sent them?"

"I'm afraid _you_ did. I charged the vase to your room." From her smile, he could anticipate her next question.

"And where did the flowers come from?"

"I had a little chat with one of the gardening units this morning, and hinted to it that the lilac bushes near the sunken garden could use a little pruning. Let's say the unit took the hint."

She burst out laughing, as he knew she would. "Was the master gardener in on this change of assignment?"

"Don't ask so many questions." His answer convulsed her with giggles.

"Well, I do love lilacs." She sniffed again. "What made you think of it?

"Don't you know what today is?" She looked at him blankly. "In universal chronological reckoning?"

"It's not my birthday, is it? I was born in the autumn."

"Only on your home world. Here, universal reckoning sets it in the springtime. Happy birthday!"

She beamed at him from the midst of the floral spikes. "Thank you! And thank you so very much for the flowers! They're the most beautiful flowers anyone ever sent myself." She sniffed them again, as if trying to make up for several years' deprivation . "I've always liked lilacs –"

"– You've said that several times –"

"''And knowing me, I"ll probably say it a few more times. They may not be the most beautiful flower, but they're one of the first. It's as if they're saying, 'There are finer things to come, but enjoy us now; because we won't last.'" She fingered one of the leaves. "You know, Ferguson, you remind me of a lilac."

By now, Threepio was used to her leaps of logic, so he asked playfully, "You aren't suggesting I'm a blooming idiot, are you?"

"Oh, stop. No, what I was thinking of was how lilac bushes grow. They may go wild, but they don't grow wild. Somebody had to plant them. When you come across one in a wilderness, you can know that the spot had once been someone's garden, even if the remains of the family's house has all been consumed by undergrowth. A lilac in the wilderness is the reminder that something lovely had been there once, and that, with some work and some care, something lovely can be there again." She smiled at him. "_You're_ a reminder that the worlds haven't always been in chaos, and that civility _can_ be restored, if we make the effort."

Threepio was also accustomed to overlooking Miss Laurie's extravagant compliments, Yet, he had to admit it was a pretty picture. The two were silent as the woman hid her face among the purple clusters. "Maybe I'll just spend the afternoon smelling my beautiful birthday flowers."

"I have a better idea." Although she did not raise her head, Threepio could see her peering at him through the blossoms. "If you're so interested in flowers today, why not spend some time with ones that aren't already fading? Why don['t you go out to the Gardens of the Desert? I heard you complaining earlier how you expected to miss the one place you'd really like to see. This is your chance."

By now she had raised her head. "But it's a two-hour drive from here! How am I supposed to get out there?"

"You just said it yourself: drive."

"But where am I supposed to get a vehicle?"

Miss Laurie could be quite difficult sometimes. "This hotel offers a remarkable service: they call it "vehicle rental!" And you needn't suggest you couldn't afford it: You've just inherited a small fortune, and I know for a fact you haven't touched your entertainment stipend. Now go call the concierge. Or will I have to pull rank on you?"

Miss Laurie stood up, but her face was troubled. "To tell you the truth, I'm not too sure about driving out there. You know how I hate going places by myself," she said, as she stepped around the table. "I've looked at the map, and the route has a lot of unfinished roads going every which way. The desert is one place where I wouldn't want to get lost! But, then again," she stated, with a decisive nod, "If you can't do something crazy on your birthday, when can you do it!" She stepped to the intercom.

Threepio retrieved her hat from the chair where she had tossed it. The Gardens of the Desert ought to be lovely this time of year. Yes, he was quite familiar with the place: an oasis of formal gardens, conservatories and fountains shielded from the harsh desert winds and scorching sunshine by the foothills of the looming mountain range. It was comparatively close to the city, yet remote enough for Alliance informants to deliver intelligence safely. He recalled the time he had escorted one defector from the gardens to the operations base, virtually under the noses of an Imperial hit squad. It had been terrifying, yet he remembered it with a thrill he wished he might someday repeat. From the base, they had been able to smuggle her out of the city through the book store.

And then he remembered who he had seen at the bookstore. The thought of the pseudo self jerked him back to the sitting room. Miss Laurie was still speaking to the intercom, but her attitude was one of dejection. "That's all you've got?"

"What's the matter?"

She put her hand over the speaker. "They're out of speeders and sedans. All they have left is a wheeled roadster with manual transmission."

Threepio considered for a moment. "Take it."

"But I can't drive that!" she hissed.

"But _I_ can!" he replied, sotto voce. She looked at him in surprise.

"You mean you'll go?"

"Certainly!" His answer made her smile in startled delight. "Yesterday, you were a lowly pedestrian. Today, you're an heiress with a chauffeur. It's your birthday!" Miss Laurie's shout of "We'll take it!" probably deafened the poor concierge. She flipped off the intercom, and faced him, arms akimbo.

"Now what, Commander?"

"Commander indeed!" he retorted. The woman laughed. "Must I suggest the obvious?"

She scampered past him toward the bedroom. "I'll get my clothes changed in a minute. Or should I wear my uniform? Are my walking shoes out there?"

"When in doubt, wear your uniform. What you have on is most appropriate Just put on your tunic, and we'll be on our way The park closes at dusk" The droid calculated that would leave them about four hours to roam the paths among the formal gardens, the ponds, the fountains – filled an d powered by the springs from the mountains – the replication of meadows and woodlands. They would all be blooming now. The several conservatories covered nearly as much area as the gardens, protecting bower after bower of delicate, exotic flora. The paths through the peaceful landscapes seemed endless. One could walk, and walk, and…

Threepio thought of his joints, and Miss Laurie's energy. And all that walking.

"Maybe you'd better wear your pumps."

* * *

><p>The Gardens had been an inspired suggestion. Threepio had seen Miss Laurie curious, and happy, and giddy; but never all three at once. She smelled the numerous varieties of lilacs, now in full bloom, she fed the gleaming carp in the reflecting pools, she admired the botanical exhibits, she climbed the spiraling stairs in the ivy-covered carillon tower, She even sang along as the chimes played.<p>

And, to Threepio's relief, she rested her feet frequently.

Even he enjoyed the holiday. The car, a brilliant red metallic two-seater, was one of the comparatively primitive wheeled vehicles still popular in the city. After the long drive, he could understand why. Commanding such a powerful, responsive machine gave him a sense of authority he had seldom experienced. On one of the lonely stretches of highway, he had let the engine show off a bit. Before he realized it, they were skimming the road at twice the legal speed limit. He was glad Miss Laurie had been unable to see the speedometer. But he doubted that she had any idea of how fast they were going. The ride had been _that_ smooth: as smooth as a speeder's, yet he could still feel the road. Rarely had he felt such exhilaration.

The woman was seated on a rustic bench along the sunken path. Behind her, pale green plumes waved on the embankment. She had taken off her shoe, and was rubbing her foot. He stood beside her.

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

"I'm having a wonderful time!" she replied enthusiastically. "Though I probably should have worn walking shoes after all. I'm sorry to have to keep stopping like this."

"Don't mention it," he said airily – and was almost ashamed at feeling so pleased with his ruse. The breeze caught the stalks on the embankment, causing several to brush the back of his head.

"You know what I like as much as anything? How nice all the staff has been." She slipped the pump over her toes and let it dangle. "I can feel them giving me those funny looks when they see the uniform, but they've all been so pleasant." She smiled sympathetically. "They haven't even been sniffy about your construction, either."  
>Threepio agreed: the staff had been respectful. Perhaps it was fear of repercussions that protected Miss Laurie from dismissive snubs, perhaps it was the eager, genuine interest she showed in their work Perhaps it was the number of mechanicals the gardens relied on to keep the beds in order that tempered their response to himself. Or could it be they seldom saw Imperial drones? He wondered if his spurious self had been to the gardens yet. Of course he had been there in memory – in Threepio's own borrowed memory! How dare that foisting interloper claim memories that…<p>

Threepio checked his racing thoughts. What was he thinking! It wasn't the other droid's fault that he had claimed Threepio's past. He didn't know any better. But, still, it felt as if a cloud had chilled the sunny meadow. The plumes on the embankment brushed his head again. Unaccountably, he found himself thinking of Captain Solo. Perhaps it was this reminder of how he had come to his present state; or, more likely, the adventure of handing a driver's car, but he began to understand the man's feeling for his ship. If it moved in the paths of hyperspace the way the roadster had on the highway, Threepio no longer wondered at his affection for it. The breeze rustled the stalks again, but he did not bother to step aside. Perhaps, after all, he _had_ gone out of his way to needle the man, He needn't have been so condescending to someone whose primary failing had merely been lack of refinement.

Miss Laurie slipped the rest of her foot into the pump. "I suppose we ought to be moving along. I heard something about a dancing fountains spectacle in the water garden." She stood up. "I'd sure like to see that. Are you ready?"

"Decidedly. Between the breeze and these blossoms, I'm getting a little battered."

Miss Laurie chuckled. "Got a little alliteration going there, eh? I wonder what those are." She climbed on the bench to look at the offending stalks. :It says 'Solidago.'" Threepio put out a hand to steady her. She allowed him to assist her to the ground. "Do you know what that is?"

Threepio _did_ know, and was astonished at the irony. "It hasn't bloomed yet, but can't you guess?"

"No! What is it?"

"That's the scientific name for goldenrod!"

* * *

><p>The garden had been planted in the footprint of an ancient village. Some of the fountains had not been constructed, but merely refurbished; The ivy -covered carillon was assumed to have been the community lookout tower. Even some of the conservatories had been built on the foundation of what may have been public buildings.<p>

One structure – or its remains, in any event – was still a mystery. Two rows of four pillars stood on a grassy plot. At one time, they had probably supported a roof of some less durable material. The structure had possibly been some sort of civic pavilion or temple. Each pillar, hewn from the stone of the nearby mountains, was about one meter in diameter, and four meters high. That is, they would have been four meters high. All but one had toppled to the ground, many years before. Miss Laurie pointed out the weathering on some of the pieces. Then she frowned thoughtfully as she studied the remaining column.

"Now here's something I've never seen before." She said slowly.

"You've never seen a ivy-covered pillar?"

"Not covered in _that_ ivy." She quickly scanned the area to see if any attendants were watching, then stepped close to the pillar and plucked one of the leaves. She crushed it in her fingers as she returned to Threepio. He soon caught the astringent fragrance.

"I thought so," she said. "This is ground ivy. We called it 'creeping vetch.' at home I've always thought it was kind of pretty, but it can sure ruin a lawn." She went on to explain, "It grows thick enough to choke out the grass, and spreads quickly. Once it takes root, it does _not_ dig out easily. If it gets in a flower bed, it can get fairly tall, but I've never seen it twine around something this big before." The little round leaves with scalloped edges almost completely covered the pillar. Tiny lavender blossoms sprinkled the thick green coat like stately confetti. A long sprig waved at the top of its stone arbor as if it were a pennant. "I notice some old growth under the fresh vines. It must have been growing there for a long time."

"For the column's sake, it's a good thing the ivy was so ambitious. Look!" Threepio pointed to a bare spot near its top. A discolored, vertical crack could be seen. "It runs from the capital to the plinth. The other pillars toppled and broke along the stone's grain. Judging from that fracture, this stone was flawed to begin with. That pillar probably shouldn't be standing at all."

Miss Laurie's only reaction was a drawn-out "Wow!"

"It appears to me that the ivy is protecting the column. It insulates it from the harsher elements, and keeps the stone from splitting completely."

"And the ivy isn't dragging in the mud, like the rest of the creepers," Miss Laurie added. "That pillar is making it grow upright and lovely, doing something useful instead of something destructive." She paused. "In a way, they've saved each other." She gasped with respectful appreciation. "That's really wonderful!"

"Hey, you! That area's restricted!" a voice cried behind them. The pair turned to see a coverall-clad attendant hurrying toward them, waving his arms. When he noticed the lieutenant's uniform, he drew up short.

"Oh, dear, I'm terribly sorry," Miss Laurie apologized. "We didn't see any signs or barricades, so we walked over."

"Well–it's – I guess there's no harm done," the man grumbled. "But that's not a safe area. That pillar's broken, and could fall at any minute."

Miss Laurie glanced knowingly at Threepio. He could guess what she was thinking. "It won't fall," she said. "It'll never fall. That rescued weed won't let it."

He had guessed correctly.

* * *

><p>The air had grown chilly as the shadow of the highest peaks fell across the sheltered oasis. Miss Laurie had turned to look at it, and the sunset, through the car's back window.<p>

"I had always thought it was an exaggeration, but, you know, those mountain shadows really are purple!" She faced forward again as Threepio directed the roadster along the winding road leading back to the plain.

"Are you happy?"

She leaned back in her seat and sighed. "I think it's the loveliest birthday I've ever had! I think it's the loveliest _day_ I've ver had!" She sighed again. "Thank you so much!"

"Now why would you thank me?" They passed between the twin boulders flanking the road that had led up to the gardens. A few miles more, and it would connect with the desert highway.

"Why would t I thank you? It was your idea, You did the driving. You acted as guide. You've made ti a completely wonderful day. Thank you so very much!"

"It – it was my pleasure," he murmured. "We should reach the city in time for dinner. And I promise not to tell any of the waiters it's your birthday." The woman gave no reply. "Miss Laurie?"

"What?" she asked, with a start. "I'm sorry: I must have dozed off. All that fresh air and exercise, I suppose. You said something?"

"I said you should be home in time for dinner."

"I don't think I could eat a thing – say, is that Kennet City there on the horizon? It looks like a golden crown, covered with jewels!" She looked toward Threepio, as the car merged onto the empty highway. "I know it's a hackneyed description, but that _is_ what it looks like!"

"It does at that," the droid agreed, admiring how the orange of the setting sun transformed the stone, glass, and steel into coral, rubies, and gold. "But I think you need to go to dinner. You've been so effervescent about your adventures today that you'll probably float away if you don't have someone to tell them to. Miss Laurie?" He repeated, a little louder, "Miss Laurie?"

His only answer was regular breathing. Well, she _had_ had a busy day.

Threepio negotiated his way across the maze of highways, always bearing toward the glittering capital. How many times had he driven these roads back when… Only his destination had not been Kennet, but the Alliance headquarters. To his right he could see the outcropping of foothills where the base was concealed. That abandoned mine had been so convenient: close enough to the urban area to benefit from its amenities, like the highway, yet distant enough to avoid attention. Compared with the Rebels' other outposts, it was luxurious.

But he returned his attention to the radiant city. That had been the past: a past to which he could never return. Miss Laurie stirred a little in her sleep.  
>At least <em>she<em> had a lovely day.

The tangle of roads had been built to support mining operations that had never been fully developed. They remained as a testament to a society's optimistic, but ill-considered enterprise. Threepio carefully slowed as he approached its emblem of civic loyalty: a faded stop sign. The droid couldn't help but admire its forlorn authority. The way dead-ended into this newer road, yet only this road was required to stop. He scanned the plain. No other vehicle could be seen anywhere, yet the sign demanded obedience. Its presence was needless, pointless. Idly, he wondered if it was habit that had caused him to stop, or something else.

To the left, the road went back to Kennet City, its colors glowing brighter in the waning light. But to the right, the road led to the abandoned highway the Rebels had used to reach their hidden stronghold.

What if he _could_ go back?

It might mean destruction; but, then again, it might not. Surely others had defected before him.

Yet, he filled an important place with the training unit, too. He would be a servant whether to the Alliance or the Empire. But the Empire _had_ granted him a commission, even if it might be annulled later. And there was Miss Laurie to think of. Would she be willing to join the Rebellion?

Threepio looked again at the stop sign. No, that sign had not been pointless, after all. He engaged the clutch, and turned to the right.


	12. Chapter 12

XII – The Ambush

The vehicle seemed to race its shadow as it sped down the abandoned highway toward the mountains. But not too fast. Threepio was careful to stay in the middle of the road, where the pavement was smoothest. It wouldn't do for Miss Laurie to awaken before he reached the Alliance compound. He glanced over at the sleeping woman, with a twinge of guilt. What would she do when she awoke to find herself surrounded by rebels? It required little imagination. She would look around absently, then start as she realized she was not at the hotel. He could picture the look of trusting confusion on her face as she looked at him for an explanation, and how it would wilt into disappointed resignation…

_"I'm sorry – there was no other way."_

She would nod. _"Yes. You kept faith with your people." _She would then sigh and add, _ "But there's no other way I can keep faith with mine." _She would then break suddenly from the car, in an attempt to force the sentries to shoot her. Threepio shook his head, as if to clear away the unhappy picture.

He would simply have to keep her from doing anything desperate. For the most part, her sympathies were with the Alliance, anyway – she had said as much. But then she would bring up that tired chant: _"I won't blow up policemen."_

If only Master Luke could talk to her. She was sure to listen to him. He could make it plain that the Alliance was not a band of terrorists; that it was just as interested in liberty and justice as she was. If only he would be there when they drove into the cavern.

Threepio was sure he must be on base, due to the present of Artoo and – that imposter. That posed another problem. What would he do about the spurious self who wore his casing? His attitude toward that substitute had softened since his first encounter. He decided he wouldn't begrudge him a place in the little family of the Alliance, but he _would_ like to wear his own casing again. After all, that which he wore had originally belonged to the substitute. That other droid could have to be persuaded to resume his original appearance. And Threepio longed to be restored to his; mismatched though the casing had been. He accelerated, scanning the landscape for the lookouts.

There they were. He saw the flash of metal on a low mesa, near the road. On the other side; well, that sentry must be new. He had failed to rub out the distinctive feathering a military speeder's wake leaves in the sand. The track pointed to a stand of thorny trees and low gray scrub. The car swept past both landmarks. In the rear-view mirror, Threepio saw the narrow speeder emerge from the brush, and begin a cautious pursuit. Presently, a second one joined it. He leaned back in the driver's seat, pleased that they would have an escort to the compound. He might not have to give the passwords, after all. They had surely been changed by now.

He looked back at the speeders again, and his pleasure gave way to alarm. In the mirror, he could see the speeders held two occupants. The drivers were intent on pursuit, but he had seen the movement of the second man too often to mistake it for anything but what it was: the assembly of an electron rifle. They would be no escort. They were an ambush! What he had expected to be a homecoming was about to become an attack. And the Rebels took no prisoners!

When the Rebels had driven this road in vehicles the sentries might not recognize, they had used headlight flashes as an identifying signal. If the pursuers recognized it, they would return the flashes. Threepio tried the friend signal. The gunners only continued their work. He tried it again. No response. The speeders edged closer. Threepio accelerated. The landscape became littered with rocks and gravel, which had broken loose from the nearby rock face.

Some gravel from the shoulder had been kicked up onto the pavement. It only caused a slight jar as Threepio ran over it, but the jostling was enough to awaken Miss Laurie. She started, and looked around.

"I'm sorry; I guess I really conked out that time. It wasn't the company," she added brightly. She looked out the window, then looked back at Threepio, perplexed.

"That's odd. I don't remember any of the road looking this lonesome. Where are we?"

"I took a wrong turn." Happily, his irony was lost on her. He could see her looking at the speeders in the rear-view mirror.

"Well, at least we aren't the only ones out here. I wonder where…" She began to look over her shoulder.

"Don't turn around." She froze. "They're attempting an ambush. Just sit still." In the mirror, he could see the speeders gaining on them.

"What are they? Bandits?"

"Something like that."

She sat stiffly, facing straight ahead. Only her eyes, turned toward Threepio. "But. . but why would they attack us? We don't have anything they would want!"

"Laurie, you're an Imperial officer; that's reason enough! Now don't talk to me! I have to concentrate." She looked away, and, eyes forward, fixed her gaze on the road.

The speeders pushed closer, attempting to box in the car. Now Threepio recognized their plan. The path to the compound was an unpaved side road, almost invisible except to those who knew the way. The two speeders were preventing his escape onto it. Rather, they forced him to stay on the paved road. It had been built for moving heavy equipment, and led directly to the entrance of the old mine. Once inside, the way twisted through the abandoned tunnels, and inclined toward a side entrance to the Base. Except for one thing…

Threepio knew the place toward which the speeders were pressing them. At one point, the main shaft divided, Unless a driver turned, he would face a wall of stone. In front of it was the opening of a large ventilation shaft. Before the vehicle could hit the wall, it would fall into the hole: a sheer drop of a thousand meters. The sentries would herd them into that shaft, where the wreckage would never be found.

What madness had possessed the Alliance, that they should be so keen on destruction! Is this how they treated Imperial deserters hoping to join them? There wasn't time to speculate now. Would there ever be? Threepio chanced a glace at Miss Laurie.

She still sat silent and straight, eyes front – and open. Her hands clenched her handbag, but her expression was one of expectant calm. He wished he could ask her what he was thinking, but the speeders had begun to worry at their fenders.

One of the sentries lunged at the car, but Threepio evaded it. He could see the mouth of the cave before them. Another moment, and they plunged into the darkness.

At that speed, the car's headlights were useless. Threepio directed the car through the cavern by memory. He knew the rock held enough radioactive elements to activate the infrared goggles he assumed the sentries wore . Tthe two speeders were next to him by now, forcing him into a straight path. If he tried to stop, they would fire. If he veered to one side, he might take out one of them, but he would be wrecked himself. Miss Laurie would never survive the crash.

The car surged forward to certain doom. Then Threepio remembered something.

"Laurie! Can you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Slip your shoulder strap." From the sound of the springs beside him, he could hear that she had. "And secure your handbag." Without bending, she slipped it under her legs.

"When I signal, grab the bottom of the seat and brace yourself."

"Yes, sir."

He hoped against hope that the Rebels had not altered the passage.

By now, the headlights showed a wall of stone before them. Before it gaped the ventilator shaft. The speeders pressed closer. In another moment, they would break off to the side passages. That was the moment Threepio needed.

"NOW!"

Miss Laurie threw herself against the seat and held on as the car flipped violently on its side, then righted itself. The car was still on the road, now facing in the opposite direction. Far ahead of them flashed the sunset light of the mine's entrance.

In a twinkling, the car had blasted through the opening, onto the old road, on its way back to the main highway and the city. The rebels would not follow them. They were probably trying to figure out how the pair had thwarted their foolproof trap.

"You can sit up now, Miss Laurie…Miss Laurie!"

The woman gave no response. Threepio glanced at her in alarm, and felt her pulse. His hand soon returned to the steering wheel.  
>After all, that probably <em>was<em> the best position for a human who had fainted.

As the foothills disappeared into the distance and the twilight, Threepio thought about how easy the their escape had been. The wall of stone surrounding the ventilation shaft was not flat, but had been banked. The opening was not flush with the wall, but was offset from it by about a meter. All Threepio had to do was force the car up the embankment, onto the wall, and drive around the opening. Centripetal force held the car on its path. It had been almost too simple.

Simple? The thought troubled him. It had only been simple because he was driving a wheeled car, that could maneuver on its side. If the rental agency had supplied the expected speeder, they would be a tangled mess of steel and carbon at the bottom of the mine shaft. If the car hand not been a high-powered sports model, it would never have maintained the speed necessary for the maneuver. If he had not recognized the sentries' trick, or hadn't been familiar with the passage. .

But, most of all, if Miss Laurie had not been there. He looked over at the woman, just beginning to stir. By now, they had reached the intersection that had been so full of promise earlier. He couldn't' risk Miss Laurie's life again. Next time he tried to escape, he would have to do it alone.  
>He swept past the lonely stop sigh, toward the city, as the sun slipped behind the mountains. He wondered if he would ever have another opportunity.<p> 


	13. Chapter 13

XIII – An Officer's Banquet

Only a dancing girl,  
>With an unromantic style,<br>With borrowed colour and curl  
>With fixed mechanical smile<br>W.S. Gilbert _Only a Dancing Girl_1

_Although Threepio's face was incapable of changing expression, he was giving an excellent impression of a disapproving scowl. "Gentlemen's club, indeed!" he growled to himself. "Gentlemen don't watch females humiliate themselves!" The briefing was over, but he and Captain Solo lingered near the doorway. The man's own expression was far from cheerful._

_"Well, Threepio, it sounds like you don't like the plan."_

_"I _don't_ like the plan! " The plan itself was fairly simple. In order to discredit the Imperial bureaucracy, the tacticians had decided to incite a disturbance at the upcoming banquet for the Imperial officers visiting Kennet City, possibly by turning it into a riot. Past observation had shown that these officers drank heavily during such events. Spiking the drinks with a mildly hallucinogenic compound to enhance the effect of the alcohol would lower their inhibitions to the point that anything could happen. Intelligence from the hotel staff had informed them that one of the coordinators had arranged for a company of exotic dancers as part of the entertainment. A single operative could slip into the facility with the women, drug the wine to be served during the meal, then slip away unnoticed. Leia had volunteered, observing with a chuckle that she had experience with the costume. To the dismay of the droid, and the man, her offer was accepted._

_"The plan is utterly repugnant!" the droid continued. "No operation can be so important that the heiress to the throne of Alderaan should have to display herself as if she were a … a wanton," he stammered, evidently thinking better of his original choice of words. "It was bad enough at Jabba's Palace, . ."_

_A wry smile flitted across the man's face. "I'd like to have seen that."_

_The droid's glare was unmistakable. After a moment, he was able to reply. "I can't speak to any sensual pleasure you might have derived from the spectacle, but if you care for her as I believe you do, you would have been horrified at her indignity."_

_The tired resignation had returned to the man's face. The droid's voice was almost pleading as he continued._

_"My opinion of this plan is of little consequence, but it's indecent to expect her to behave in terms …in terms I find difficult to apply to any female."  
>Han grumbled, "I can think of a few terms. "<em>

_"I can think of twelve thousand, eight hundred and sixty three, and I'm ashamed of every one of them."_

_"Come with me, Threepio," Leia's voice called from down the corridor._

_"Yes, ma'am, I'm coming." Hurriedly, he appealed to Captain Solo. "Can't you do something to stop this travesty?"_

_"What can I do? She's made up her mind."_

_"But they're your treasures she's being so free with!"_

_The woman's voice grew insistent. "Threepio, come on!"_

_"Coming, ma'am!" He answered. But as a final rejoinder to Solo, he said, "If you can't think of her, you might at least think of your child!" He followed the voice out of the room. The man watched him go. Shaking his head, he turned toward the hangars. Abruptly, he stopped, and looked back at the now-empty corridor._

_"My child?!"_

* * * * *

"The banquet? Good grief! I'd completely forgotten." Miss Laurie slapped her forehead, as Threepio read the directive.  
>It was a small wonder she had forgotten. After the excitement over their encounter with the "bandits," several days earlier, she was still a little shaken. But, at the time, she had not been shaken enough to neglect to provide the local law enforcement officials with a time line of the events, and a description of the suspects' vehicles. Threepio silently cursed himself for exposing the Rebel stronghold to possible discovery. On one point, however, Miss Laurie's report was lacking: she had no idea where it took place. She had been asleep when he chose the road, and had not recovered consciousness until they were long past the fateful intersection.<p>

After the investigators' initial irritation upon learning that a mech had been at the wheel – although it wasn't strictly illegal, it just wasn't _done_ – they directed their questions to him. He had named another of the tangle of highways as the route he had taken: one that led to similar scenery, but in a different part of the foothills. As he listened to the officials speak, though, he knew his attempted deception have been unnecessary. By their voices, he recognized them as operatives long connected with the Rebels' activities. They would never be endangered by any reports _these_ officers might file.

And even the car had not been badly damaged. The mandatory insurance fee had taken care of everything. All considered, the outcome had been far better than he had feared.

"The people at that dinner are the same ones who don't talk to me on board ship!" Miss Laurie's complaint restored him to the present. "They aren't going to be any more friendly now." She slipped off her pumps, and rubbed her foot, still blistered from her Garden hike. "I was hoping to just go to bed tonight."

"It says attendance is mandatory –"

"– I know, I know –" she grumbled.

"–And the attire is formal – "

"Formal? I haven't any formal dresses…" Her face lit up, "…But I did see one at that dress shop that might…"

"– Forma dress uniform." Threepio was almost sorry to cut short her happy musing. "But it says there will be dancing."

"Well, that's something," she said. The shadow of disappointment lingering on her face was dispelled by laughter. "Do you remember when you were trying to teach me to fox trot, and I nearly broke my toe when I accidentally kicked you?"

"Your toes should be entirely safe this evening, though I fear for the ankles of your partners. I expect I'll be on errand duty in the lobby again." Errand duty. A long, dismal vigil spent with a band of stolid drones, listening to tantalizing camaraderie just beyond a closed door, But he knew he could not afford to attract attention by being anywhere else. The monotony of errand duty was, well, his lot in life. His gaze returned to the directive.

"You'd best dress quickly. Cocktails will be served in a half-hour."

"You know I don't drink." But she rose from the sofa anyway, and made her way to the bedroom.

"Nevertheless, you need to be there. Networking, you know."

"I'll be working, all right," She remarked through the half-open door. "But the way some of those guys drink, I hope we won't need a net."

With a hint of impatience, the droid replied, "Now stop complaining. This is a formal banquet. Everyone will be on their best behavior…"

* * * * * * *

Threepio stood in the lobby between two drones, positioned immediately outside the great double-doors of the banquet room. Just as he had expected. Such was the nature of errand duty. From inside, the clatter of silverware on china blended with the chiming of crystal, to provide rhythm for the murmuring chorus of conversation. Under it all, a popular melody on the loudspeakers tried to harmonize with the banqueters' own music. He remembered, with sympathetic amusement, that Miss Laurie had said that particular song took away her appetite. Perhaps her dining companions would take her mind off of it.

He wished his own companions had been more stimulating. As usual, the drones were devoid of wit or wonder. But it wasn't their fault. They had no memory of past events, and no interest in future ones. They simply functioned in a perpetual present, with no curiosity about how they came to be in it, or what might result from it. Threepio truly pitied them.

He had to admit, though, that some of that pity extended to himself. He would have enjoyed being part of the banquet, and hearing new voices describe new ideas. His rank entitled him to a place at the tables, didn't it? But, even he recognized that a droid joining such a party was ridiculous. He glanced at his fellow attendants, and recalled that, there, but for the grace of ROM, went he. He might as well just make the best of it.

Still, he did feel out of place, merely standing in that soaring atrium. Their black casing clashed with the understatement of its pale slate and silver elegance A row of tall potted palms almost obscured the grand stairway just beyond. They cast swaying shadows across the marble floor. A glimmering chandelier, several stories long, was suspended above the center of the lobby. Behind him and the drones was the bank of elevators. The chased steel doors blended into the pearly gray of the upholstered walls. The three units looked like a stray ellipsis on a clean sheet of paper.

Yet, as Threepio examined the room more closely, he noticed that, while the lobby retained its cleanness, its edges were growing a bit rough, and its elegance threadbare. The armchairs, grouped conversationally at various points in the room, still bore the imprint of their last occupants. The art prints on the walls showed the effect of extended exposure to sunlight. Even the great chandelier appeared to be missing some of its prismatic charms. He had never noticed until now that the lobby – the whole hotel – was verging on shabbiness. But it could keep up pretenses for some time: guests paid scant attention to their surroundings as they hurried to the attractions beyond the revolving doors.

Threepio had doubted there would be many errands to run. It _was_ a slow evening. One commander, whom he recognized as one of the tactical lecturers due to speak at the Training Conference the next day, had come out of the hall with a requisition for the equipment he would need for his session. An ambitious ensign sent a unit to his quarters to retrieve his planner.  
>Some movement by the registration desk caught Threepio's attention. The clerks were in the process of clearing the counters of information stands, decorations, even the computer terminals. He turned to watch as they secured the items in rolling cabinets, and pushed them into a back room. Finally, one of the clerks pulled a heavy metal screen across the length of the counter. He could hear the clerk latch it in place, then heard the office door close and lock. "How very odd," he thought.<p>

From behind him, a voice said, "I'm sorry to trouble you, but could you…"

"You needn't be so deferential, Miss Laurie: it's I." He turned to face the woman. Her arms were crossed tightly, but she did not appear angry.

"I knew it was you," she said with a laugh. "You use more inflection than the other units."

"But I hadn't said anything!"

"You stand with more inflection."

The droid slouched in exasperation. "That makes no sense whatever!" But the thought did amuse him. "So, what can I do for you?

"Could you get my coat?"

"Your coat? Are you planning on leaving?"

"No. I don't know what they do with that room when there aren't any dinners, but it's cold enough in there to store meat!" She rubbed her arms. "I knew I'd have done better going to bed."

"Is it very dreary?" Threepio asked sympathetically.

"I'm at a table with a bunch of ship's officers, and Commander Hitch." The droid remembered that imperious lieutenant from their visit to the recreation room. His recent promotion must have come with a leave, as his own had. "They're busy talking among themselves as if I'm not there. Then, one will start to tell a joke, catch sight of me, and clam up." She rolled her eyes. "And then they all glare at me as if it's my fault the joke's unfit to repeat!"

"I can appreciate your disappointment. Go sit down before you're missed, and I'll bring your coat to the table."

The woman smiled appreciatively. "I'm at Table 23. I'll be the blue one." She slipped back into the hall.

The elevator got him to the fifteenth floor in no time, a few ultrasonic warbles to override the door lock, a quick scan of the closet, and he had the coat. Moments later, the droid was back in the lobby. As he stepped out of the elevator, though, he noticed a workman crouching beside one of the power panels. It was open, and he appeared to be flipping the breaker switches. As he did, the service buttons on two of the elevators went dark. Threepio wondered about the kind of repair the man was planning to make/ He knew of no malfunctions with any of the elevators. Very strange! He moved toward the banquet hall, pulled open one of the great doors, and stepped inside.

The hall was smaller than he had expected, dark and unornamented. The lights – a number of chandeliers, miniature versions of the one in the atrium, and recessed spotlights, evenly spaced around the perimeter of the hall – had been dimmed, so the guests could enjoy the intimacy forced on them by the lamps on the tables. The droid had no trouble locating Table 23 in that gloom, but he was certain it aggravated Miss Laurie's own failing vision.

She jumped as he put his hand on her back. "Oh! Thank you," she said, when she caught sight of him. "I'll just put it over my shoulders." She rose, pulled it tightly around her, then leaned close to him.

"How long do you think I need to stay?" She whispered.

The droid scanned the hall, and the circles of officers chatting over their salads. "You might as well finish your meal. Once the dancing starts, you might be able to slip away." Toward the back, he could see the waiters wheeling in serving carts with the main course. The guests gave a noisy cheer as the plates were set before them. "Can you wait?"  
>"I guess I am kind of hungry, " she admitted. The droid held her chair as she reseated herself. "But I don't know who they're going to be dancing with. I haven't noticed any other women."<p>

Threepio was puzzled. Why hadn't he thought of that before? "Well," he said in a low voice, "Try and make the best of it. If I can do any more for you, let me know."

"I will. Thank you." Miss Laurie looked toward the raucous diners. "They sure are getting loud back there." She rubbed her arms again, and watched Commander Hutch, seated at her right, reach past her for the wine carafe.

"I'm…" The droid started to say. Instead, he merely patted her shoulder as he turned to leave.

The comparative brightness of the lobby blinded him momentarily. As he recovered his sight, he noticed that the elevator workman was gone. The function lights were all dark now. Why would he have deactivated the elevators? It occurred to him that Miss Laurie would have an uncomfortable climb before her to get back to her room. Should he warn her? But maybe the shutdown was only temporary. Perhaps the repairs would be completed before the banquet was over. There wasn't anything she could do about it at this point, anyway. He joined the drones; but studied the comings and goings in the lobby.

He noticed nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, the lobby was empty. But that, in itself, was out of the ordinary. What could it mean?

From the banquet hall, the percussion of cutlery had faded, replaced by a crescendo in conversation. Loud conversation. Threepio recalled Miss Laurie's crack about needing to deal with the banquet-goers with a net. He hoped she had been wrong. He watched as a handful of young officers strolled out of the banquet hall, chuckling conspiratorially. He detected a little unsteadiness in their gait as they approached the elevators. Eventually, they noticed that they weren't functioning. A few of them grumbled profanities, then one of them suggested the stairs. They elbowed each other with a laugh, and, after a quick survey of the lobby, moved in a pack in that direction. Threepio overheard one mumble something about it being "easier to jump them there." Jump whom? And why? Clearly, they must have begun drinking long before the banquet started!

Then the music from beyond the door changed. The pounding bass shook the floor, overpowering any tune it might accompany. A roar erupted from the crowd, punctuated by whoops, howls, and whistles. Was _that_ the dance music? A dreadful thought occurred to the droid. It _was_ dance music, but not the kind he – or Miss Laurie – had expected!

As he debated just how definite the mandatory attendance order had been, and whether she might need help, the door opened, and Miss Laurie herself staggered out. She leaned against the back of a nearby armchair, breathing heavily. Her face was pale, and she trembled. Finally, she looked up at him, wide-eyed.

"Do you know what they're doing in there!" She exclaimed. Threepio didn't know, but he could make some informed assumptions. "I don't care if attendance is mandatory or not! I'm not staying there any longer!" She caught her breath as Threepio stepped closer to her. The drones merely looked on blankly.

"I should have left when Commander Hitch told me I was a fetching creature. I thought he was joking, and asked if he wanted me to fetch something for him." Threepio escorted her to one side of the door, out of the path of a couple of officers who had wandered through. One supported the other as they looked at the palm trees, then began crooning something about a "lovely bunch of cocoanuts2."  
>"Then what?" Threepio asked.<p>

"What? Oh – " Miss Laurie had been watching in shocked amazement as the men tried to climb one of the trees. "He wasn't joking. He put his arm around me and said he meant 'fetching'– " she lingered over the word suggestively. "Then he said we needed to get better acquainted!" She gasped. "Until now, he's said three things to me, and they were all nasty! But then the kooch dancers gyrated in, and the lights went crazy!" She trembled again. "I'd have gotten out sooner, but I couldn't find the way!"

She collected herself. "I'm going to my room and locking the door!" Another officer slid into the lobby, gave the two drones a long look, then started measuring himself against one of them. "And I don't think it's safe for any of you, either!" She began to pull Threepio toward the elevators. "Do you think you could get them up to my room? Maybe we could all hole up together."

He stopped her. "They've shut down the elevators…" Alarmed, she looked toward the stairs, "…And there is a pack of human wolves prowling the staircase." He pushed her toward the wall and stood in front of her, as another officer threaded his way past the armchairs, then picked up a table lamp and threw it at the chandelier. He hit it, too. The dangling charms caught the lamp's shade, as its porcelain base dangled dangerously over the marble floor. "You need to get out of this building entirely!"

"But I've…"

"The ladies' lounge is over there." The growing band of adventurous inebriates were so occupied with their own stunts that he doubted they would notice her – at the present. "When you're finished, go straight out the front door. I'll follow you. Hurry!" he urged. She looked at him, then straightened her coat and marched through the madness, into the lounge. Threepio watched her go, then looked around the lobby. The floor still vibrated, the banquet hall still yowled, but he was left with only one question:

What in this world had they been drinking!

* * * * * * * *

_The young woman peeked out a side door. No, this one opened into the main lobby. She couldn't slip out that way. Leia let the door swing shut, and leaned against it as she surveyed the spectacle of the banquet hall._

_The plan had worked. She had no trouble mingling with the dancers as they prepared for their performance. Her own costume — draping strands of glittering multicolored beads, and little else – blended well with the rest of the exotica on display. When several of the dancers had suggested killing some time chatting with acquaintances among the serving staff, she had tagged along. The carafes of wine were waiting on serving trays, ignored and unattended. As the girls and their friends exchanged careless banter, Leia broke the clasp on one particular necklace._

_It had been a clever camouflage. These soluble beads did not shine, but the drug suspended in them effervesced a little as the woman dropped them into the wine. The bubbles sparkled in the clear, dim light. No one paid any attention to her. She had no sooner finished, when the event manager appeared, shooing them all back to their waiting room. There, the choreographer explained their routines, ran them through their numbers, reminded them how to conduct themselves. Leia found herself gaining a fresh sympathy for these women who earned their living by…dancing._

_But then came the call to start the show. She strutted, shimmied, and paraded with the rest, watching the crowd of officers, who roared and whistled their approval. The drug had done its work well – perhaps too well. As she sauntered among the tables, she lithely avoided the outstretched hands. But there had been more of them reaching out than she could evade. Gradually, she had worked her way to this overlooked, and unlocked, door. Those leading to the kitchen and the staff quarters had been bolted behind the dancers as they made their entrance.  
>She frowned. Why would the staff have done that? Could they have been tipped off about the expected disturbance? How could they have known? Maybe they were simply used to the unrestrained behavior of Imperials on a spree.<em>

_By now, several officers had made themselves sarongs from the tablecloths, and were attempting their own steps with the dancers. On top of the tables. The dancers appeared used to such excessive behavior, but Leia noticed that even some of them looked apprehensive. A group of men had formed by the main entrance. They muttered among themselves briefly, then let out a collective guffaw. Soon they disappeared into the lobby. She peeked out the door again. This ruckus was getting out of hand._

_She sighed, and turned back to the confusion, just in time to see two bleary-eyed officers whisper to each other, and begin to move in her direction. Without hesitation, she pushed through the door, into the relative calm of the lobby. Grey and black uniforms peppered the open area, Several black drones still stood by the hall's main entrance, but even they shot an occasional curious look at the door when some triumphant whoop from within offended the lobby's comparative reserve. But Leia could spot no means of escape, other than the bank of revolving doors on the other side of the room. She looked down at her rippling beads, then back at the men unsteadily milling about. Three must be some other way out. But she would have to evade those two eager banqueters first._

_She glided behind the potted palms, from one feeble shadow to the next. The pair had followed her out that side door. Presently they spotted her. Leia had long ago come to recognize that gleam in their eyes. She gave up any attempt at concealment, and made for the far wall. As they drew closer, she ducked in the firs door she could reach._

_It was the ladies' lounge, a baroque haven of pink and gold. Hurriedly, she shoved one of the heavy upholstered chairs in front of the door, then surveyed her surroundings._

_She had led herself into a dead end. The only way in or out was behind the chair, in which she now sat. Across from her was a ventilating window – open, too – that probably faced the alley, but it was too high for her to reach. Even if she could pull herself up to it, she doubted her flimsy jeweled sandals would provide any protection for the drop to the pavement. Behind her, she heard the mumble of low voices, then a knock at the door. She shuddered, then looked up in surprise._

_Another woman, an older, taller woman, was looking at her. Her fair-complected face looked kind, but was beginning to show the signs of matronliness. Her hair, cropped in typical military style, was lightened by the presence of white hairs among the brown. She wore a long black government-issue overcoat._

_"You'll never get out of here in that outfit." She observed. "That mob has completely forgotten itself. In another ten minutes they'll remember _I'm_ a woman. You wouldn't make it halfway through the lobby."_

_"I know." Leia shivered as the knocking grew louder. The other woman frowned thoughtfully._

_"Here." She was taking off her coat. Under it, she wore a lieutenant's uniform. "Put this on…" It hung loosely over the princess's slight frame, and covered her costume to the floor. "…And the cover." By stretching the hat somewhat out of shape, she managed to cover the decorations in her hair. "If you hurry, you should still be able to get out the front door." The officer took Leia's place on the chair. She unbuttoned the top of her uniform tunic, exposing a lacy white blouse underneath. As she did, she pushed her small handbag in the opening, and buttoned it again. "Okay," she directed, "As you leave, one of the drones will follow you." An obscene snicker came from outside the lounge. The woman shot the lurkers a distasteful glare. "He'll probably have to run interference for you. Go straight out the door and cross the street. Then give him the coat and cover."_

_Leia stared at her. "What are you going to do ?" The lieutenant's amused smile warmed into a chuckle._

_"This may sound goofy, but I've always wanted to jump out a window. This is the first time I've had an excuse. If I stand on that other chair, I should be able to reach the ledge." She stood up and leaned against the chair. "Ready?" She slid the chair forward, just enough to allow the girl to pass. "See you soon."_

_Leia slipped through the crack, past the two men who had pursued her, and through the crowd that had wandered over to see what they would do. She heard one of them grumble scornfully, "Aww, it's just Marton!"_

_The other slurred, "Marton's got a good figure. Why not…"_

_As she hurried off, he overheard the first say something about the "Beaded Bombshell," Soon he was pounding on the lounge's door again. But she didn't delay to watch._

_Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed one of the drones break from the group, and head in her direction. She didn't look back, but she heard booted footsteps following her across the marble floor. They stopped as someone – evidently the drone – spoke in a low, earnest voice. The steps dashed away. By now, she had reached the revolving doors. The main one was blocked by leering men trying to fit one of the large palm trees through it, but the one to the side was available. Eagerly, she pushed on the handle. Halfway through the rotation, the door stopped. She turned to see a tall blonde man in a black uniform grinning at her – and pulling the door in the opposite direction. She pushed harder, but the officer was too strong for her. Then the drone stepped up to him._

_"Sir, are your quarters on the fifth floor?" The man frowned at the unit._

_"No, they're on the third."_

_"I was afraid of that." The unit leaned closer. "I just overheard a group of ensigns say they were going to raid the rooms on the third floor." It pointed toward the grand staircase. A band of grey -jacketed revelers were just disappearing around its bend. "If you hurry, you can stop them."_

_The officer roared, "Why those. . " then swore with impressive creativity. He let go of the door, and Leia wasted no time scrambling to the sidewalk. Without a thought for oncoming traffic, she bolted across the street, finally pausing in the shadows of a recessed shop entrance. She watched the drone direct several other possible followers toward the stairway. Then, it pushed its way through the revolving door.  
>"I thought I'd never put them off!" It said as it approached. "If their remarks weren't merely alcoholic delusion, you're not be wanting for attention when your leave is over!" By now, Leia had taken off the coat.<em>

_"The lieutenant told me to give this to you." The drone simply stared at her. "Here," she added, offering it the coat. Without removing its photosensors from her face, the unit accepted the garment. "She said she would be along in a moment."_

_"Yes, your – er – Yes, ma'am."_

_At a distance, Leia heard someone call. "How'd you make out?" From the darkness of the alley emerged a limping figure in a skirt. She hobbled across the street to join the pair._

_"Why, you're hurt!" The girl exclaimed. The officer just waved her hand._

_"I just skinned my knee a little. That drop was longer than I thought!" she smiled._

_Leia watched her curiously. "I gave the unit your coat," she said awkwardly. The older woman returned her curious look._

_"Maybe you should hang on to it for a while. That probably isn't the best outfit for walking around at night." She smiled ironically. " It's a little chilly, I'd think." Then she looked back at the hotel. Indistinct shouts, and an occasional crash, could be heard coming from the upper stories of the hotel. The lieutenant continued, "You can send it back to the hotel when you're done. Tell them it belongs to Lieutenant Marton, fifteenth floor. That is, if the place is still standing tomorrow."_

_The drone held the coat for the princess. She slipped it on, and tied the belt. "Thank you," she replied, bewildered. "Won't you need the hat?"_

_The lieutenant laughed quietly, "I certainly will! Thank you." She looked at Leia, as if she wanted to say more. As the girl turned to go, she spoke. "Say, would you mind if I asked you something? I don't mean to offend you, but are you doing this because you have to, or because you want to?"_

_Leia was taken aback, and must have looked it. The officer fumbled for something in her handbag and went on. "The reason I ask is because, if you _have_ to – there it is! – these people might be good to know. Oh, and you might need this before the night is out, too." She handed the girl something, which Leia absently thrust in a pocket. "Do you think you'll be able to get home all right?"_

_"I'm sure I will. Good night." She turned to go, but then turned back. "And thank you for all you've done." There was a humility in the princess's tone that she had never heard herself use before. The officer, who had been blotting her knee with a lace-edged handkerchief, waved carelessly._

_"Don't mention it. But remember that card: you might need it sometime. Good night." The silhouette of the woman and the drone faded into the dark street._

_Leia hurried away from the sounds of orgy. As she passed a lighted shop window, curiosity tempted her to look at what the officer had handed her. She felt around in the coat pocket, and pulled out a small card and a ten-credit piece. But what was on the card? By the light of the window, she read, "LifeSpring Women's Ministries. Are you in trouble? We can help…"_

_She looked up indignantly. "Why – what does she think I am!" she thought. A breeze caught the bottom of her borrowed coat, and rustled the beads hanging from her waist. She looked down and thought of what she was wearing. "And why wouldn't she think so?" Subdued, she drew the coat more closely about her, and walked slowly down the street._

1Gilbert, William S. "Only a Dancing Girl" (1866) in _The Bab Ballads_

2Heatherton, Fred. _I've Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts_ ]song] 1944.


	14. Chapter 14

XIV – Forced March

_Da luan, da mort, Da luan, da mort, agus dardine1_  
>Traditional Fairy Lyric<p>

_That which is only living can only die._  
>T.S. Eliott (Four Quartets)<p>

* * *

><p>Miss Laurie smoothed the wrinkles in her cover and put it back on her head. "Well, Lieutenant Ferguson, what do we do now?" The droid was still watching the retreating figure of his former mistress. "Oh, Ferguson!"<p>

"What? Oh – excuse me – I was thinking of something else."

"I had asked what we should do now." A settee came flying out a fourth-story window. Both the woman and the droid recoiled as it crashed to the pavement.

"Officially, I'm still on errand duty…"

"You aren't going back in there, are you? I'd rather face a court martial." From the broken window where the settee had been launched came a shower of clothes, and a chorus of cheers. No, neither of them would be going back that night. But Miss Laurie did present a problem. She would have to spend the evening somewhere, but there were no sanctioned hotels within the unrestricted zone where the Imperial officers were permitted to move at that hour. Simply waiting out the riot on the street would be impossible. Loitering was an arrestable offense – and, at this point, the _Vigilant_ could ill afford any further disgrace. Her vision was too poor, and the streets too dim for her to walk safely. There was only one remaining option.

"As your superior officer," Threepio stated with mock severity, "I am obligated to tend to the welfare of the troops I command. And as a unit on errand duty, I am obligated to assist the officers to whom I've been assigned."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning, I'll be attending you on an evening hike. Left face! – and take my arm. I won't have you stumbling all over the sidewalk – Forward, march!"

"Sir, yes, sir!" The woman replied, as they moved away from the anarchic scene visible through the glass face of the hotel. By now, the squirming gray mob had covered the chandelier, which swayed alarmingly under the added weight. Miss Laurie looked over her shoulder at the chaos.

"Shouldn't we call the police?"

Threepio did not slow his pace. "They know. The fact that they have done nothing suggests to me that they have been ordered not to interfere." He felt Miss Laurie shudder. "Is it too chilly for you?" It had rained earlier, and the air was still damp. Overhead, the moon glowed briefly from behind a veiling cloud, then vanished into the muffling overcast. From the direction o f the mountains came the storm's thundering farewell.

"It's a little cool, but I'll be all right if we keep moving," she said . "But that's not why I shivered. I was thinking of the dancers." She shivered again. " I hope they got out safely. And what about those two drones?"

"I ordered them to follow me, and wait in the alley. You should have passed them when you came out."

"I thought I noticed one – it was so dark I'm not sure what I was looking at – but I only remember seeing one set of photosensors." Her steps slowed, as she looked over her shoulder again. Threepio pulled her on.

"Keep walking. There's nothing we can do for it now." She looked up at him with uncertain horror. "I doubt it will remember a thing."

"Oh, my," she breathed. She clutched her handbag, and Threepio's arm, more tightly. They reached the corner, and crossed the street. Past the shops, the little courtyard gardens, the public offices, They crossed another street, both lost in their own thoughts. Threepio guessed the woman was thinking about the victims of the banquet disaster, and the possibility of judicial action against herself for failing to participate. For himself, he was still trying to reconcile the Princess Leia Organa he had known with the exotic dancer he had just met. Might she have had a hand in the active destruction of the hotel's interior? And what would happen when the surviving drone reported that Lieutenant Ferguson had ordered it into the alley? Madness. But, for good or ill, the path was chosen. Where it would lead, who could tell?

As if paralleling his thoughts, Miss Laurie asked, "Where are we going?"

"I don't know. Have you any suggestions?"

She shook her head, and shivered again. One of the street cleaning units approached them. It slowed, scanning them Satisfied they posed no immediate threat, it crawled past them, on its nightly rounds, leaving a dry path on the wet sidewalk. The pair watched it roll by, and moved on. They passed a brick-paved corner plaza, its central fountain shut off for the night, and crossed the street.  
>Suddenly, Miss Laurie giggled. "I'm sorry," she explained. "It just occurred to me that, in this light, you look like a puddle walking upright."<p>

"Do be serious. We'll have to find some place for you to wait out the night. The street cleaning units have no tolerance for loiterers, you know. There's a good chance you could spend the night in the city lockup." Threepio surveyed the empty streets. Kennet social custom dictated that workers spend their non-business hours with family and friends, in their own lively residential neighborhoods. Aside from the establishments in the entertainment district that catered to tourists, the heart of the city was effectively abandoned each night. Therefore, even though there was no official curfew, anyone roaming the streets could be suspected of lawless intent, and idle sitting or standing would confirm the assessment! The street cleaners were programmed to monitor for such questionable inactivities, and report them. Idlers could be detained as possible malefactors. Threepio knew that, if he and Miss Laurie could find no haven besides the street, the street cleaners would hound them unless they kept walking. He thought of his joints, and the woman's blistered feet…

"The entertainment district might offer a refuge, in some all-night café or the like…" The droid had been hoping to avoid that disreputable area. But the woman was shaking her head.  
>"I'd make a very bad customer. I gave the last of my cash to that girl in the beads. Besides, I won't have you standing in any alleys all night!"<p>

"Maybe it's just as well," the droid admitted. "Most of the late-night entertainment consists of drinking establishments, and …and…"

"Gentlemen's clubs!" Miss Laurie muttered contemptuously. Evidently, the dancers still preyed on her mind.

"Gentlemen's clubs, indeed!" Threepio echoed, with equal contempt. "Gentlemen don't watch females humiliate themselves." He felt her grip tighten on his arm. By a passing patrol car's headlights, he caught sight of a smile on her face, then it was lost once more in darkness. They crossed another street.

"How much did you give that girl?" the droid asked.

"Ten credits, I think. I had meant to draw some more cash this afternoon, but got distracted." Her heel caught in a crack and she stumbled. Threepio steadied her. On they walked.

Absently, he said, "I wonder what she thought of getting a handout."

The woman looked up. "Do you think I insulted her? I didn't mea to."

"Of course you didn't. But the Royal House of Alderaan is not accustomed to accepting charity."

She thought a moment, then exclaimed, "Do you mean…?"

"That girl was Princess Leia Organa."

The woman stopped so suddenly that Threepio nearly lost his balance. "That kooch dancer –"

"Lower your voice!" the droid ordered softly, glancing about for eavesdroppers. But there were none.

Miss Laurie hissed, "That kooch dancer was Princess Leia Organa? Great grief!" She gasped in disbelief. "How have the mighty fallen!"

"I doubt she was acting professionally. She was probably reconnoitering, or contacting an operative."

"But still and all! What are they thinking, making her run around in another outfit like that!"

"Between us, I agree with you." The pair walked on. In the street, a patrol car approached. It slowed, then went on its way.

Eventually, Miss Laurie chuckled softly. "Dancing princesses have been a staple of musical comedies. But I don't think that kind of dancing was ever considered." They crossed another street. "I don't suppose her sweetheart sings."  
>"Not when he's sober."<p>

Miss Laurie burst out laughing, though, for once, quietly. "What a state of affairs!" Another sweeper unit passed them. "I wonder what he had to say about this."

"Why?"

"Well, I don't think I'd want my girlfriend paraded in public like that, especially in her condition."

"Condition?" This time, the droid stopped so suddenly that the woman almost stumbled. "Do you mean she's – she's expecting?"

"It looked like it to me. In that outfit, it would have been hard t hide it." The woman added, "But she only shows a little bit." The pair continued in silence.

Finally Threepio murmured, "How have the mighty fallen, indeed!"

Because they had no intended destination, their path did not meander. Eventually, it brought them to the edge of the unrestricted area. Here, the major business district ended, and the neighborhoods began. The fragrance of grass and budding trees blended with the odor of wet asphalt. Before them, like a sentry protecting the gateway to the real Kennet, stood a great stone church.

Although the building was scarcely more than a century old, its architecture, reminiscent of the surviving ruins in the Gardens of the Desert, gave the impression of antiquity. Its stones had been quarried with modern, labor-saving, equipment, yet it was the same stone that those forgotten mountaineers had used their own simpler technology to carve. The ornamentation along the eaves and the foundation even copied their designs. As yet, it was too young a structure to have acquired an ivy cloak: only stone vines curled around its narrow windows. The bright lights inside made the colored glass shine like sunlit gemstones. The massive wooden beams supporting its slate roof suggested strength and dignity: qualities necessary to its role as the venerable patriarch of the young city. Threepio and Miss Laurie watched as passers-by stepped through its filigreed cast iron gate, that opened into a tree-lined courtyard surrounding the main entrance.

In spite of its timeworn appearance, the church had an advantage over its architectural ancestors: artificial lighting and a climate-control system. Happily, it was a mild night, because the large heating and cooling unit, situated along the street near the foundation, was undergoing repairs. The access panel that normally covered the condenser was propped against the side of the building. A length of ductor had been removed, exposing a large exhaust vent. Some drainage tiles must have also needed work. The pavement near the unit and a section of sidewalk had been replaced with gravel. To one side lay a stack of the missing flagstones.

"Shall we go over?" Threepio asked.

Miss Laurie hesitated. "Isn't that street the boundary of the unrestricted area?"

"Well, it is _on_ the street, not beyond it. We've nothing else to do at the moment."

Miss Laurie hung back as the droid moved forward, then, with resolve, she stepped out. "What's one more infraction to someone already courting court martial! Let's go!"

Threepio sniffed disparagingly, "I doubt our situation is as grim as you insist on painting it – step up, there's a curb."

As they neared the edifice, the woman brightened a little. "I _have_ wanted to see this place…"

"And you'll have no better opportunity." If nothing else, he thought, it might be a restful distraction in what he feared was likely to turn into a night-long ordeal. They followed the sidewalk along the length of the building, past the condenser, and the open windows, through which they heard tuning instruments and murmuring spectators.

"I'm not aware of it being any holy day. It must be a concert," Threepio commented. They passed through the iron gate, and crossed the flagstone courtyard. Before them was a broad flight of stone steps, leading up to a pair of rugged ironbound doors. The lantern like lamps hanging above them illuminated the alcove, and threw a warm light over the stairs.

Miss Laurie was squinting toward the entrance. "There appears to be a message board up there. Maybe it says what's going on." By now, the woman had warmed to the idea of visiting this restricted landmark. "Wait here a minute; I'll be right back." She scampered up the steps, and was reading the notice by the time the droid had made his way up the long shadow-obscured ramp which bordered the stairs.

"What does it say?" Miss Laurie jumped at the sound of his voice, then smiled as she noticed the ramp.

"I had been wondering how you would get in. I nearly forgot you don't 'do' stairs." She turned back to the message board. "But this just lists the times for the services." She gazed at the doors thoughtfully.

"Based on what I know of church architecture, that door should open into the narthex – the lobby – so I ought to be able to peek in without disturbing anyone in the sanctuary." She tugged at one of the wrought iron handles. The great wooden door creaked softly on its hinges as it swung open. "I won't be but a minute," she whispered, stepping inside.

She was back in less than a minute, with a solemn young man in formal attire. His manner was stiff, but pleasant. He appeared to be an usher.

"I didn't mean for you to have to come out…" Miss Laurie was saying.

"Not at all," he answered, "I was about to step out for a breath of air anyway." The man motioned toward the church, "The restoration of the organ has just been completed. The concert is in its honor."

"Congratulations!" Miss Laurie smiled. "These days, a good organ is a real treasure. What's on the program?" Threepio could see the woman's eyes sparkling with excitement. By now, she had resumed her place next to him.

The young man named a few familiar classic works for organ and choir. As he did, though, Threepio noted the look of uncomfortable curiosity on his face, as he looked from the woman to himself. From his past experience on Kennet, Threepio knew what troubled him – and resigned himself to his eventual exclusion from the performance. But, to his credit, the usher continued to describe the music.

" Our church orchestra will have several selections, as well – and the concert is free." He held the door open. "Would you like to come in?"

"That does sound nice!" She turned to Threepio. "Would you like to hear it?" As she spoke, the droid saw the familiar expression of dismay cross the usher's face. Unconsciously, the man raised his hands as if to stop her.

The gesture must have caught Miss Laurie's attention. Her eager smile faded into a chilly scowl. "I see," she said crisply. "I think we'll keep going. Thanks anyway." She began to pull the droid away from the entrance, then paused. She turned back to the usher. "I don't mean this offensively, but, remember, exclusivity left the church when Peter left Joppa. Good night." The pair picked their way down the ramp, to the dim courtyard.

"Which way shall we go now?" Miss Laurie asked, as they reached the iron gate. Instead of answering, Threepio led her back to the sidewalk. They walked in silence, parallel to the church, as the sound of hushed voices and rustling programs drifted through the open windows. Finally Threepio spoke.

"You should have gone in. I could have waited outside." But secretly, he was pleased at her refusal.

"A lady doesn't leave her escort," the woman answered flatly. The strains of a solemn chorus swelled into the empty street. The concert had begun. "I can hear it just fine out here." She slowed as they passed under the windows

Threepio spoke quietly. "As for an escort, you would hardly have been unchaperoned in a church. You probably didn't see them, but there were several other droids standing in the shadows…"

"In the shadows, eh?"

'Oh, now!" he chided gently, "I appreciate your indignation, but excluding mechanicals from spiritual matters is far from uncommon."

"For one thing, this is a concert, so that shouldn't have mattered. And, for another, if you're any measure –"

He cut her off. "Lower your voice, if you please. We're close enough to that open duct for the whole building to hear you!"

"If you're any measure," she repeated in a harsh whisper, "They're stupid to do it: it denies their own teachings. The 'Holy Writ'2 says that those who want to know the Maker 'must believe that he is, and that he is a rewarder of them that seek him.' And 'how shall they believe in Him of whom they have not heard?3" and how will they hear without somebody to tell them? The droid hurried her past the windows as passion fortified her voice.

He whispered, "You quote those verses with great facility." She took his hint, resuming her argument in a subdued voice.

"So – and thank you for the compliment – if they know that He is, no one should be interfering with their seeking Him. How are they going to hear what they want to know if they're forced to stand in the shadows? If you've got somebody who wants to know about God, you're supposed to tell them, not make judgements about whether or not they need to know." They reached the end of the block, and paused.

"Your concern for the welfare of mechanicals is gratifying, but do you think many _are _curious about such matters?"

"_You_ were. Are you particularly unique?" Threepio didn't answer. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew that, as a third-rate translator unit, he was nothing special among his kind. Whether his curiosity was unique, he couldn't say. These were subjects they seldom discussed, among themselves. And he found himself wondering why.

But Miss Laurie was completing her thought. "I'm not saying the droids ought to be forced in, just that they shouldn't be forced out – as they are now" She looked back at the church. "There's something so wrong about that." She turned to Threepio. "Would you rather we crossed the street?"

"_I'm_ not the one who was disturbed," he said, proud, in spite of himself, of her sympathies. "If we promenade here, we can hear the concert – if you promise to keep your voice down!" He scolded playfully.

Miss Laurie chuckled, "I'll do my best, sir."

The musicians were indeed skillful, and the organ a powerful, yet sweet-voiced instrument. The lower registers shook the sidewalk, and the highest notes sounded more like the songs of birds than the product of air in a pipe. Although the program was intended to showcase the capacities of the organ, it, instead, complemented the choir. It sang with energy and emotion; and with unusual unity for so many voices. Threepio's charge for silence was unnecessary: Miss Laurie was speechless at the excellence of the performance. Her only comment was an occasional "Oh, wow!" after a particularly beautiful passage.

Eventually, the restless sounds of the spectators indicated that the concert was approaching its conclusion. The audience quieted, then the choir began to sing:

"Jesus, when you come into your kingdom, remember me4," The plaintive melody was being sung antiphonally. The pair in the street listened as the tune rested briefly in each section before the next one picked it up.

Threepio whispered, "I think that's the loveliest piece in their repertoire."

"It's very pretty, but I've always hated it."

"Why?" he asked in surprise. "Most find great comfort in those words."

"Not in _those_ words," Miss Laurie muttered. "Do you remember the context?"

"I believe so. When the man who claimed to be the deliverer of his nation was being executed, one of his fellow prisoners made this request5."

The woman nodded. "Is the question reassuring?"

The sopranos pleaded, "Jesus, when you come into your kingdom, remember me."

"I see your point," Threepio said in a low voice, for the path had taken them near the open windows. "The request is never answered."

"…Remember me," the tenors begged.

The woman and the droid picked their way across the gravel fill by the open exhaust vent. The full choir, in formal measure, sang, "Jesus, when you come. . "

Miss Laurie stopped, then motioned for Threepio to wait. He watched as she crept across the gravel to the exhaust vent. As the choir's last appeal to "Remember me." echoed in the street, he saw the gleam in her eye, and realized what she was about to do.

She took a deep breath and, before the audience could begin its applause, sang:

_And Jesus said, 'Surely I say unto you that today _…

She held the note, so the "day" seemed suspended in the night air.

_…Thou shalt be with Me in:  
>Paradise!<em>

Silently, she stepped away from the vent, and resumed her place on Threepio's arm.

Her song had stopped, but, somehow, it had not ended. It was as if her voice had pricked the world of matter, and a drop of the unseen music that animates it had welled to the surface. The stunned silence in the sanctuary was the proof

But that glimpse of eternity had not been on the programme. After their initial shock, neither the audience nor the choir was likely to appreciate the unexpected coda. Threepio could already hear the indignant rumblings of the crowd filing down the aisles. Hurriedly, he tried to draw the woman away from the building, but she shook her head, and pointed in the opposite direction. She intended to walk toward the church's main entrance! He allowed himself to be dragged into what was certain to be an ugly scene.

He hadn't long to wait. By the time they reached the gates, several irate men were pulling it open, scanning the street for a prankster. One caught sight of Miss Laurie. Judging from his robe, he was probably the choirmaster.

"Here, You! Madam!" he called. Miss Laurie stopped, and turned. Threepio sized up the tall man, and edged forward, to put himself between the woman and what might soon become a physical confrontation.

"Yes, sir/ what can I do for you?" She asked with an expression of accommodating surprise. The three men eyed the pair.

"Did you see anyone on the street during the concert?"

Miss Laurie looked around. "Only us," she answered.

The response merely irritated the choirmaster. "No, no!" he said impatiently. " Did you see anyone out here singing?" When Miss Laurie looked puzzled, he explained, "Are you familiar with _Jesus, Remember Me_? Did you hear that addition at the end?"

Miss Laurie's face lit up. "Yes! Oh, that was wonderful!" She enthused, "You know – by the way, you sang it beautifully – but I've never liked that song because it's incomplete. That poor thief on the cross keeps asking, but never gets an answer. This time, he did! Oh!" she signed excitedly, "It turned that song from forlorn hope into glorious assurance! It was thrilling!"

Obviously, that was not the answer the man had wanted. The other two men hurried toward the street, as the choirmaster glowered at Miss Laurie. She appeared mystified by his reaction. Threepio nudged her out of his reach.

"It was not in the score!" He looked in the direction the other men had taken. "We had nothing to do with it!"

Miss Laurie gave a convincing gasp of surprise. "Oh!" She big her lip thoughtfully, then said, "Well, I hope someone took notes. I was about to suggest you keep it in, because it really was magnificent." Exasperated, the choirmaster threw up his hands, and followed his companions into the darkness. "Good night!" Miss Laurie called after him.

She and the droid stepped back against the fence, as the audience passed by. The artistic vandalism was the main topic of conversation. Some were complaining angrily, some repeated the reassuring words and smiled, but most were silent and thoughtful. The incident appeared to have affected them in ways yet to be determined. The pair watched until the stragglers had made their way out, into the night.

Threepio felt Miss Laurie pull on his arm. As he turned, she gestured toward the street. Wordlessly, he led her to the crosswalk, then to the opposite side. They walked along, past half-lighted storefronts. Neither spoke for several blocks.

Finally Threepio sighed, "I can't take you anywhere." Miss Laurie burst out laughing, though the darkness seemed to mute her mirth. "It's not funny," he scolded. "What would you have done if that choirmaster had asked you directly if you were the singer?"  
>She shrugged. "I'd have to have told him the truth. But he didn't ask, so I didn't volunteer. Everything I did tell him was true."<p>

"But what possessed you to do it in the first place?"

"I don't know – I'm really not sure." She slowed her steps as she thought."Somehow, it just seemed like the thing to do. I suppose part of it was that I really do dislike that number, for the reason I gave. And, I think part of it was that they were so rude to you."

"I doubt anyone besides you would have seen it as a slight. And what was that nonsense about 'leaving Joppa?'"

She frowned, but with regret. "It was accurate, but catty, of me to make that crack. It was an allusion to the days when the Believers were few, and thought that they all should be people like themselves. They were wrong. One of those outsiders had a vision to go to the city of Joppa to find Peter, the leader of the Believers. At that same time, he was having a vision himself, reminding him not to be a snob6. Peter wasn't normally in Joppa, so, when the messengers showed up, they all knew their visions weren't just vivid dreams. That was how Peter found out that all people groups could be Believers. After that, the inclination to exclusive behavior left the church – or should have."

"Of course," Threepio nodded, recognizing the story.

"Later on, somebody pointed out that discriminating between Believers by nation or origin had been wrong from the very beginning; that inclusion, based on faith, had been God's plan all along7" She sighed irritably. "Maybe I'm just tired and cranky, or have been helping people find information too long, but I just don't like the stifling of inquiry."

Somewhere in the distance, a deep-voiced bell tolled the hour. They stopped by a barricade of tall stone planters, overflowing with trailing blossoms and waving plumes of ornamental grasses. Miss Laurie leaned against one of them, and shook a stone from her shoe, then laughed, "Like everything else in this place: even the flowers are closed."

Threepio stepped back and looked at the woman. "This concern of yours for my kind is touching, but unquestionably unusual. Why should this be so important to you?"

Miss Laurie sighed again, slowly. "I don' know. Maybe it's from growing up with all those practice-people in the doll orphanage. Maybe it's from listening to you all this time. Maybe I'm just wacky. All I'm sure of is that I don't want to see anyone, whatever their origin, lost in the dark."

Across the street two street cleaning units met, circled each other, and proceeded on their paths. The woman slipped on her shoe.

"Am I talking like a nut?"

Threepio's tone was kinder than his words. "No more than usual."

She smiled as she took his arm. "You aren't really angry, are you?"

'No, but I was afraid."

She looked up at him, curious, "Afraid of what?"

He leaned close and, in a low voice, said, "Afraid your voice might crack on the long notes."  
>Once more, Miss Laurie was convulsed with laughter.<p>

"That's all very well, but there's some little doubt as to whether a droid has a soul to save…" By this time, Threepio wasn't entirely sure how the conversation had turned to this topic. How long had they been trudging the streets? Somehow, in that mystical atmosphere of stillness, exhaustion, and misty darkness, the topic did not seem absurd. It was one he would never speak of with any master by prosaic daylight. But, then again, thanks to the "cousins" they shared, Miss Laurie was not like _any_ master.

"I figure, if it's alive and intelligent, assume one and let God sort things out." Miss Laurie hung heavily on his arm. Weariness made her clumsy, and she tripped on an incline in the sidewalk. The droid caught her, and steadied her.

"For that matter, there is also considerable doubt whether a droid is alive at all, Logically, their functions are, at best, the imitation of life."

Miss Laurie yawned. "Incandescent, fluorescent, or solar, artificial or natural: light is still light," Her mishap had restored her alertness.

They turned the corner, and found themselves passing the church again. It was now quiet, and empty, like some great monument to mortality. The flicker of dim lights, from candles at the various shrines, trembled in the windows, suggesting silent figures moving about. But they only heightened its lifelessness. Threepio quickened his pace. The eeriness affected Miss Laurie as well. She shrank closer to him, and her grip tightened. "There's something so desolate about an empty church," she whispered. "It looks like a mausoleum now." They hurried past a street cleaning unit, that noted their presence and returned to its work. Neither of them felt like speaking until the haunted building was far behind them.

"So, what do you think?" Miss Laurie's voice broke the stillness.

"About? Oh, yes, whether a droid can be regarded as alive."

The woman nodded.

"I'm afraid I have to agree with the technicians. A droid is not a product of nature, but assembled by existing life forms to serve as autonomous tools. As I said, the best a droid can do is imitate life."

"So you're equating synthetic with imitation?"

"Well, isn't it?"

Miss Laurie's grip on his arm relaxed. "Did I ever show you my jewels?" She had, once, and Threepio recalled that the value of the small collection required appraisal based on sentiment. "Do you remember the two star sapphire rings? One belonged to my father. He bought it when he visited a place where they were mined and polished. It was expensive. The other belonged to my grandfather, who picked it up when he visited the factory where it had been synthesized. By comparison, it was cheap. Do you know why?

"Certainly. Any jeweler would tell you the second stone was an imitation."

"Only it isn't!" Miss Laurie concluded, with confidential triumph. "They are both genuine sapphires. Their chemical composition and crystalline structure are identical. The only difference is that one was created by natural forces, ad the other by directed ones."

"So what's your point?"

"That synthetic doesn't mean imitation. Something can be created by artificial means and still be genuine."

Threepio conceded she had an interesting premise. She added, "Another thing about those two stones: the natural one is cloudy, and its star is hard to see, due to impurities. The synthetic one is clear, with a brilliant star. That one may not be as valuable as the first, but it sure looks more like what a star sapphire is supposed to look like." She glanced up at him. "What do you think?"

"Artificial intelligence and synthetic gemstones are hardly comparable," Threepio retorted. "Besides, gemstones make no pretense of living. Droids do."

"So you're saying your life isn't real life."

"I've _been_ saying that from the beginning. It should be obvious that a machine can't live."

The streetlights were unevenly placed on this block, so the droid couldn't see the woman's face. He could, however, feel her restrain a chuckle. She, on the other hand, acknowledged his disapproving glare.

"I'm sorry. I was thinking of all those classic science fiction stories that imply an opposite conclusion." She shrugged. "You know best, I suppose, but…"

As they turned a corner, a breeze caught the odor of stale beer and fried onions. They had reached the entertainment district. By day, cheerful restaurants, small theaters, and the like offered refreshment and diversion for tourists and office workers alike. Once the city closed down, however, the diversions were aimed at more elemental, unrefined tastes. The neighborhoods would have offered more appealing options to the pair, but they were officially off limits. Besides, at this hour of the night, their proprietors would be sound asleep. Well, there was no help for it. Forward they went.

Their path took them by the door of a tavern. From behind the door, molded to resemble rough-hewn boards, came harsh music and raucous laughter. Threepio stopped.

"Too bad the banquet planners didn't know about this place," Miss Laurie observed wryly. "They could have had it here, and saved the hotel a major renovation."

"Laurie, would you mind changing arms? " She stepped behind him, and a moment later, he felt her hand slip around his street-side arm. "It may not be completely proper for you to be on that side, but I'll feel better if you were."

"Thank you." As she spoke, the voices became agitated behind the door, and something shattered against it. Threepio quickly escorted her past the threat.

"We aren't out of bounds yet, are we?' Miss Laurie asked, as distance softened the sounds of conflict.

"No, we're right on the edge," Threepio said, looking ahead at the row of establishments before them, each as unsavory as the first. He pulled the woman forward. "Let's get it over with. The next block looks quieter."

Miss Laurie gave an exasperated snort, "A church is technically out of bounds, and joints like this are approved. Go figure."

"It's beyond my capacity. As I recall, even the street cleaners operate here only by daylight."

"Recall?" She gave him an inquiring look, then caught herself. She dropped her eyes, and matched her stride to his.

The music was different, but the tone of the voices escaping from each of the bars was the same. The pair soon left them behind for a street of closed restaurants and arcades. Their steps slowed.

"Now, what were you saying?" Threepio tried to restore the thread of the conversation.

'Miss Laurie looked blank. "About what?"

?About the imitation of life."

Recollection lit her face. "Of course! How can one tell real life from its imitation!"

"Very well, then, how would you define life?"

Miss Laurie paused before answering. "I was thinking of that bucket of blood back there. If some bellicose bruiser with blasters blazing bounced out of the bar…"

"You can stop the alliteration."

"Sorry," Miss Laurie laughed. "Believe it or not, it just came out that way." She composed herself. "Anyway, if some fellow staggered out of the bar, and shot you smack in the central processor, would it bother you?"

Threepio stopped to look at her. "That is as silly a question as I've ever heard you ask."

"I agree with you, but what's the answer?"

"Of course it would bother me! I don't particularly want to die! And you needn't make anything out of the word 'die.' There just isn't a better term in this language to describe irreversible cessation of function."

"What are you getting so surly about?"

"Nothing! But I refuse to be a party to any fallacious conclusions you may reach based on faulty assumptions."

"If you'd prefer, we can drop the subject entirely," the woman shrugged. "It there something you'd rather be doing?"

A chilly breeze swirled around them. With it came the distant sound of dissipated howls, from the direction of the officers' hotel. Miss Laurie shivered; whether from cold or disgust the droid couldn't say. He looked down at her. They resumed their forced march.

"Erm – Where were we?"

"We were talking about being killed. Would getting shot bother a robot – one of those street cleaner units?" On the opposite side of the street, one picked its way around the planters and lamp posts. They stopped to watch it.

"I doubt it would notice." Threepio finally stated.

"Wouldn't notice? Even if it tried to do its work and couldn't?"

"All it knows is the duty it was programmed to perform. It either performs that function or it doesn't. With robots, there is no 'try.'"

"Then how about a drone? You once described them as droids without ROM."

"Their consciousness is only temporary. The information they need is reloaded each time one is called into service. With no permanent long-term memory of their own, I expect an end to existence would have no meaning to them. Every new assignment is, to them, a new existence."

The woman whistled softly. "That's awful." Suddenly, she asked, "How do cyborgs figure in?"

"Cyborgs?"

"Weren't you intended for 'human-cyborg relations?' How do they figure into the mechanical hierarchy? I've never heard you talk abut dealing with anything but pure mechanicals."

"They have _no_ part in the hierarchy. Cybernetic Organisms are organics who need, well, mechanical parts to function. Come to think of it, though, colloquially, the term is occasionally applied to self-motivating androids."

"Like you."

Her innocent observation took him by surprise, but he answered, "No one has ever referred to me as a cyborg. Besides, all properly-functioning _droids_ are self-motivating." But he considered her assertion. "Very well, I'll allow that robots and drones imitate life, and droids or, if you will, mechanical cyborgs, replicate it. That doesn't mean that they _have_ life."

"But being destroyed would bother you?"

"Naturally! Though, I'll admit," he added, "A lot would depend on the circumstances." He glanced at the woman, still on his street-side arm, and wondered at the reason for her ironic smile.

She mused,"That's the thing about real life: those who have it might surrender it, but they never want it _taken_ away. And so," she finished with a sigh, "We're back where we started. Synthetic doesn't mean imitation. It seems to me that a droid passes the life test."

Unconsciously, Threepio slowed his pace. Near a street lamp, he came to a stop. The faint sound of delivery vans in the shopping district, and carousing from the entertainment quarter rippled ths quiet of the city, but he hardly noticed. _Could she be right?_

They were both startled by the chirping of Miss Laurie's watch. "Three more hours to sunrise," she murmured, looking down at her pumps, now scuffed and misshapen from excessive use. "And to think these were new when we started." Behind them, they could hear an approaching formation of street cleaners. The units broke rank to avoid the two wanderers, then followed the sidewalk around a corner. The walkers turned in the opposite direction, and crossed the street. Here, the facades were not lighted. The droid carefully guided the woman over the cracked, uneven pavement. The stillness amplified the sound of their footsteps.

Eventually, Threepio heard himself asking, "Why are you so determined to prove that droids are alive?"

From the gloom, the voice on his arm responded, "Why are you so positive they aren't?"

He did have a reason – one so private he had never been able to bring himself to dwell on it. Perhaps it was the darkness, or the solitude, that prompted him to reveal it.

"I know it isn't real life because no sacred writing of which I am aware includes any references to my kind. Even your own Holy Writ, as inclusive as it is of those who can find favor with the Maker, makes no promises for droids." There. He had finally said it. The subject that droids never speak about, even among themselves. Perhaps it was because they shared his own dread: that his was an existence with no meaning, no hope. He looked ahead at the path before them. A path much like his own: an occasional streetlight showed the way for a time, but the way gradually dwindled into obscurity, and oblivion. As it always had.

Eventually, Miss Laurie spoke. "I think," she said slowly, "The reason droids have no special promises is because they're included in the original ones."

"That would be a revolutionary interpretation. How did you reach that astonishing conclusion?" He had not intended to sound so sharp, but he had a vague sense that the woman was making light of his secret fear. Her expression, however, was sober.

"It just occurred to me that the question we've really been discussing, and the one you just raised, isn't whether droids have life, but whether that life has standing with the Maker of All Things."

"And why should it? Our function doesn't originate from His creation."

"As far as He's concerned, neither does anyone else's." She looked up at him in wonder. "It's the oddest thing! For whatever reason, two thoughts just shot through my head at the same time." And she quoted, "'And you hath he quickened, who were dead in trespasses and sins,"8 and "As many as received Him –" and Threepio recognized the "Him" in the passage as referring to the man who had claimed to be the one manifestation of the Maker – "To them he gave the power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name: which were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God."9 Apparently, the passage had surprised her as much as it had perplexed him, But gradually, with effort, she connected it to the conversation.

"Somebody can be functionally alive, but spiritually lifeless. The life that God honors isn't the one that's merely functional, but the one that honors Him. In fact, the life that really is life is equated with knowing Him.10 Those who have the ability _to_ know Him are not selected on the basis of being part of the right family – born of blood – or the right organism – the will of the flesh – or even their obedience to His laws – the will of man. The life that God recognizes is the one He puts there. And He puts that life in those who trust Him." Their steps had slowed to a halt. "So," Miss Laurie concluded in an awed voice, "The only qualifications I can find are that something exists in the first place, and that it is capable of faith." She exhaled thoughtfully. "It's funny: I've looked at those passages a thousand times and _never_ thought of this before. Even mechanicals _exist_ by the will of man. Somebody had to decide to build them." She stared at the pavement. " There was room for droids in that description all the time." Without looking up, she asked, "What do you think?"

"I don't know…" He wasn't entirely sure of the accuracy of her exposition, but he had to admit, "It _is_ something to think about."

Just them, they heard a siren howl. Another answered that call, then a third. Judging from the direction of the sound, a pack of emergency response vehicles were finally converging on the ruins of the officers' hotel. With that, the mystic journey in the silent streets ended. Threepio looked down at the woman. Her expression was like that of one waking from a dream – or, in her case, beginning to fall asleep. "I expect we had best start back," he said. The woman nodded, and limped beside him as they moved down the block. Their discussion had ended, and, most likely would never be renewed. Established assumptions and conventional reasoning would forbid it. But, as the wistful mood that had inspired the conversation dissipated, Threepio said, "In any event, you certainly seem determined to see me in Heaven."

To his surprise, the woman's grip on his arm suddenly loosed, and she trembled. Had a breeze chilled her? No, the air was calm. His words had been careless, but they must have had a significance to her for which he could not account. They walked on, past the concrete flower boxes and terrarium-like office building lobbies. The sirens grew louder.

Finally, Miss Laurie spoke, quietly and gravely. "It doesn't matter whether I see you. What matters is whether you see God."

They said no more that night.

* * *

><p>Notes:<p>

1In an Irish fairy story, a kindly hunchback is awakened by the fairies singing. They keep repeating "Da luan, da mort" (Monday, Tuesday). Finally, he completes the song by adding "Agus dargine" (And Wednesday, too!) The fairies are so delighted at the resulting song that they take away his hump. The story goes on, but the phrase signifies the completion of something that was familiar, but lacking.

2Hebrews 11:6: But without faith it is impossible to please him: for he that cometh to God must believe that he is, and that he is a rewarder of them that diligently seek him.

3Romans 10:14: How then shall they call on him in whom they have not believed? and how shall they believe in him of whom they have not heard? and how shall they hear without a preacher?

4_Jesus, Remember Me_ (Jacques Berthier, 1981)

5Luke 23:42: And he said unto Jesus, Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom.

6Acts 10

7Romans 9: 24-30.

8Ephesians 2:1

9John 1:11-13.

10John 17:3: 3And this is life eternal, that they might know thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent.


	15. Chapter 15

XV – A Trespasser

Alack, it was I who leaped at the sun  
>To give it my loving friends to keep!<br>Nought man could do, have I left undone:  
>And you see my harvest, what I reap<br>This very day, now a year is run.  
><em> The Patriot<em>1

* * *

><p>"That's the trouble with taking time off: it takes three times as long to catch up!" Miss Laurie stated, as she leaned back in her chair and watched the new messages scroll down her monitor. "I'm almost glad we had to come back early."<p>

Threepio looked over the book cart, overflowing with returns and conference purchases, at the woman, as she stretched, then hunched over her monitor again. Her toes, still swollen from a night on the streets of Kennet City, kneaded the edge of the workstation's metal frame. "I see you haven't lost your talent for euphemism," he remarked dryly. Come back early? Say rather "kicked off the planet!" Small wonder, too. The wreckage from the hotel's interior had filled the street. Hardly a window remained intact. The great chandelier, wrenched from its moorings, lay draped through the shattered facade. In the grey-green predawn light, it looked like the frozen currents of a dirty waterfall. Through it fluttered the shredded remains of one of the palm trees, still jammed the revolving door. As he and Miss Laurie had come upon the scene, the garbage collectors were already excavating a path through the debris, so the MPs could look for any instigators lost in the mess. Gradually, the two of them could detect the authoritarian bark of police from inside the shambles. Sensibly, the law officers must have gone around to the back, where the windows had been smaller, and less tempting as launching ports for furniture.

Miss Laurie had laughed. "They're going to have their hands full – literally. I bet everybody's asleep now." Her own speech was slurred by drowsiness. About then, one of the MPs on the perimeter, in helmet and riot gear, caught sight of them from across the street. Miss Laurie had smiled and waved at him. That pleasantry, combined with her obvious sleep-deprivation, the condition of her shoes, and the fact that _she_ was still able to stand upright, convinced him that she had not been a participant in the evening's demolition party. He paid no attention to the "drone," on whose arm she still leaned; and, for once, the woman did not draw the officer's attention to her escort. She merely said that Lieutenant Ferguson had assigned the unit to accompany her while she waited for daylight. Threepio later heard that the drone he had sent to the alley confirmed that Lieutenant Ferguson had also ordered him to remain there.

He never found out what had become of the third.

It was no surprise that Miss Laurie was detained as a witness. She waited, and watched, as the bodies of disheveled officers were removed from the building, and stretched on a clear patch of sidewalk. As the woman had predicted, they _were_ all asleep. Remarkably, none of them were seriously injured. And, later, as they awakened in detention, they had no memory of the previous evening's events. Threepio had thought of Her Highness, and the wine carafes – and of the drugs to which the Rebellion had access — and doubted they would ever remember much of their excesses. For them, the evening had ended somewhere between the dessert and the dancing,

"Say, Ferguson!" Miss Laurie's voice stayed his drifting thoughts. She waved at him from her workstation. "I've got some news about those dancers." As he stepped closer, she added, "Some smart guy forwarded me the news coverage of that fiasco, Most of it is nasty, but this story's a good one. In fact, I'd say it was pretty heroic!" He leaned over her shoulder and read.

The report described how the dancers – making no mention of the style of their art – had all escaped unscathed, thanks to the efforts of the event manager, and the cooperation of several officers who, like Miss Laurie, had left their wine untouched. While the manager guarded the side door, the men had disengaged the women from their amorous entanglements, wheedling, distracting, and, when necessary, bullying their admirers. As they danced the last few girls out the door, the manager had locked and bolted it. They had all had spent the rest of the evening barricaded in the kitchen with the night staff.

Miss Laurie laughed. "I'm glad we didn't think of that. Of hiding in the kitchen, I mean." Again, Threepio thought of Her Highness, and her narrow escape, and silently agreed.

After the interrogations, and the filing of charges, and the dropping of charges, and threats of reprimand, and loss of all the personal effects Miss Laurie had left in the hotel – for, although the building itself was intact, every floor had been essentially gutted – and the revoking of leave, and apologies to the training conference, Threepio and Miss Laurie had found themselves on another shuttle. This time, the droid traveled in cargo, with the rest of the mechanicals, while the woman sat alone, among the sullen looks and aching heads of her disgraced shipmates, all banished from that liberty planet.

The shuttle had hardly docked when – he found out later – she was out of her seat, out of the sallyport, and out to report to Major Jon. Moments later, they were both on their way to meet with the apoplectic Director. He, erm, had questions about that night's goings-on. For himself, Threepio followed the file of drones making their way to the charging station, and overheard the conversation. Half the ship overheard that conversation. "I guess I was too angry to be scared," she told him later. In the end, though, the Director was mollified, the Lieutenant was vindicated, and the Training Unit was prepared for the _Vigilant_'s captain, when he addressed the crew. By then, Threepio was safely in the library again, having ducked down the corridor as the straggling line of drones passed it. Nothing good could come of the Captain's assembly, but he had applied his anxiety to tidying the piles of materials that had been dumped on the tables during their absence.

Eventually, Miss Laurie turned up, in surprisingly good spirits, considering the dressing-down the crew had just endured. Only, it turned out, the castigation never came. "The captain was ready to let loose, when somebody passed him a note. He harrumphed a bit, gave those of us who had been at the hotel a mild scolding about public intoxication, then ordered everybody to the sick bay." As she spoke, she had turned to check the accumulation of call slips piled carelessly on one of the tables. "That note was the preliminary toxicology report from the guys the MPs picked up. It turns out that some of them had enough —" and she named a familiar hallucinogen "– in their systems to have killed many of them, if they had taken it without food." She had straightened the stack, and moved it to her workstation. "That banquet meal wasn't that great, but I think it saved their lives."

Threepio noted that she made a point of not looking at him. A dreadful thought occurred to him. _Had she told what she knew about the Princess?_

As if reading his mind, she had looked up, and replied in a low voice, "I haven't said anything. I don't really know anything; but if they" – and he knew she meant the Rebellion – "If they did what I suspect, it was a dirty trick They've ruined that hotel owner, and embarrassed the training association." Then she sighed. "I suppose we should be grateful they used a drug, and not a bomb."

Threepio nearly challenged her, but stopped. The less said about the episode, and the Rebellion's possible part in it, the better. Instead, he asked, "Have _you_ been cleared to return to work?"

"Tomorrow, yes. The medic took one look at my knee and my feet, and said to put them up." Very sensible, the droid had thought. Besides, she had not had any rest in over a day. Through a yawn, she said, "So, for now, good night. I hope I'll make it to my quarters before I fall asleep" Unaccountably, though, she smiled broadly. "And thank you for making me go on a trip that was everything you said it would be."

Her gratitude astonished him. "And what did I say?"

"That it would be one of the best investments of time I'd ever made." She yawned, and moved toward the door. "Believe it or not, taken all together, . . I really had fun!"

With genuine surprise, Threepio exclaimed, "Fun?"

"Well, I got to see Galoga's Tomb, and the Gardens of the Desert, and Kennet by streetlight, and the inside of a mine. I got lilacs on my birthday, a ride in a shiny red roadster, and even had a chance to jump out a window! If it hadn't ben for you, none of it would have been possible." She pressed the activation panel. "Thank you so very much for coming!"

Threepio looked at his feet. "You're welcome," he muttered.

He looked up to find her leaning against the door jamb. He felt her eyes search him, but then she smiled. In a low voice, she added, "And thank you for coming back." The door closed, and he heard the uneven click of her ruined pumps hobble away. Her gratitude, however, had given him pause.

_For coming back?_ What else could he do?

_Maybe things won't have changed so much after all. _She had expected him to try to escape. She had as much as given him permission. That he had failed was not for lack of trying. Did she think he had _chosen_ to return? Well, maybe it was best that she did.

There had been no sarcasm in the woman's manner. In spite of all the mishaps, Miss Laurie was sincerely glad she had gone to Kennet; and he couldn't help but be pleased that her memories would be pleasant ones. But what memories would _he_ have? Of useful conference days, of quiet, chatty nights, of spring flowers in the sunshine, of driving a splendid sports car, of a thwarted escape, of familiar places that were no longer welcoming, of nearly-unrecognizable friends…and of an imposter who had taken his place! He leaned heavily against the table. The pile of packages shifted, but did not fall.

At least there would be plenty of work to distract him for a while. Odd that he hadn't thought about the substitute since the banquet. Now, without other matters to occupy his thoughts, that substitute would probably haunt _them_, as well as the tunnels of the Kennet base! The stack on the table shifted again.

The packages could wait: he needed to think. He did not usually choose an armchair to sit in, due to his difficulty in rising; but, tonight, he felt the need. The upholstery seemed to hold him as he leaned back and fixed his gaze on …nothing in particular.

Was it really the substitute that bothered him? No. Time had dulled the grinding dismay of that knowledge. Was it the change in the Rebellion? Was it the failure of his escape attempt? Being pursued like an enemy instead of being aided like a defector? Or seeing the once-proud Princess Leia Organa humiliating herself? They were troubling, but… but that wasn't it, either.

No, it was the combination of all of those factors. Taken together, the pointed to one, hopeless conclusion: he would never escape from the Empire. There was no place in the Training Unit's range where a getaway would have been easier to stage, and he had been unable to arrange one. And, even if he _had_ eluded detection, this Rebellion was not the same one from which he had been stolen. He hardly knew them now; and they did not know him.

He thought again of what Miss Laurie had said about changelings: how, when they finally did return home, that home had changed so radically that the poor thrall of the fairies had been better off staying with them.

_But maybe things won't have changed so much, after all._ The droid rested his head on his hand. A kind hope, but one that had gone unfulfilled. For himself, he had no hopes left. Well, at least he had learned Artoo-Detoo was in good condition. Happily, he, and the others, had survived the revolution. Maybe it _is_ just as well they didn't know what had happened to him…

He could almost hear Miss Laurie's voice, _"They'll never know what happened. You'll never have to see them again."_ Yet he _had_ seen them again. And the sight had been painful.

But Threepio was grateful the woman's prediction had been wrong.

He scanned the library, without seeing it. The main reactors boomed the way thunder from a mountain storm had done in the streets of Kennet City. His thought back to that long, dark night, and the unexpected debate that developed from it. He shook his head. That _had_ been a strange journey. Yet…

What if Miss Laurie's assumptions were correct? They were something to think about. Because, if she was right…

Maybe he did have a hope, after all.

But that had been three nights ago. As Threepio had expected, the woman had slept around the clock, and only now was getting back in to the rhythm of overseeing the library. She looked up at him, before closing the article about the dancers' rescue. "This will probably embarrass you, but I prefer the way we spent the evening."

"Indeed! Your musical mischief isn't likely to be forgotten any time soon," he replied, though not without some pride in the nerve her indignation had given her.

She smiled and hung her head. "I should be sorry; but I'm not. Well," she said, turning back to the workstation. "Even if they _have_ taken my name off the blacklist, I doubt I'll ever be going back there. Besides," she laughed, as Threepio turned his attention to the returned materials, "There's enough work here for the next ten years!"

She peered closely at the monitor – causing the droid to wonder if her vision would last that long – then groaned, "Oh, brother!" Then, "I think we've got trouble."

"A new recruit class?"

"Worse. The assessors are coming." The Assessors! The band of inspectors upon whose reports the Training Unit's certification depended. The one group the Director genuinely feared. But no one else did: the instructors' competence was well-documented, as their sessions at the lamented Training Conference proved. The library, too, surpassed the standards laid down for it. The Team had nothing to fear from the Assessors.

But their presence meant that the Director would be on edge, The coming days would find him storming about, giving orders, changing orders, and generally disrupting the Training Team's operations. Having been through several assessments, Threepio understood the reason for the woman's dismay. The fact that they had only just returned to the ship was irrelevant. Before long, the Director would be stalking through the door, to scold Lieutenant Marton about the disgraceful untidiness of the library. He would then order it to be put into order immediately, notwithstanding the fact that they were already busily occupied at that very task. From Miss Laurie's reaction, the Assessors were due to arrive too soon for a proper reshelving.

Threepio gestured toward the book cart. "So, what do you plan to do with all this?"

Miss Laurie intoned with a laugh, "They come in force, with stealthy stride. Our obvious course is now to hide2 – it!" She untangled her feet from under the workstation, and slipped on her shoes. "It says they'll be here tomorrow. I figure if we can get this stuff down to the storeroom, we can sort it out there, without anyone here having to look at it."

"Particularly the Director?" The droid inquired ironically.

The woman flashed him a knowing smile. "_Particularly_ the Director!" she answered.

* * *

><p>Miss Laurie was still giddy from her Kennet adventure. Threepio could not recall ever having seen her so chatty during business hours. In the rumbling quiet of the storeroom, her voice twittered like an obligato, as she went on about the things she had seen, and the things they had done. The droid let her ramble, adding an occasional affirming comment when the reminiscences slowed. There was a security in her conversation, a distraction from the thoughts that, since their departure from Kennet, would intrude in silent moments. He would have to learn to subdue them, if he was going to endure his inevitable future<p>

"Do you know what those blue flowers were? The ones by the fishpond in the Garden of the Desert?" Miss Laurie was asking.

He took a handful of recorded lectures, and stood them on end in the space between the storage boxes and the edge of the shelf. "I'm afraid I'm not "up" on local horticulture. It may have been a variety of columbine."

She signed, and slid a pile of journals from the bottom shelf of the cart. "Oh, well. I can look it up later. I liked watching the fish, too: watching the shoal of them slowly glide and turn, with the sun shining on them It was like watching a current of light in slow motion."

Threepio's inarticulate agreement was drowned by the buzz of Miss Laurie's comlink. She pulled it out from under several stray directives and answered it.

"Hello, this is Lieutenant Marton." Threepio heard a man's voice, but it was too muffled to understand. Miss Laurie looked in his direction. "Yeah, he's here… uh-huh … Did you want him to come down?" The droid stepped closer. "Well, _I've_ no objection. . " She put her hand over the mouthpiece, and turned to him. "Do you feel up to doing some interpreting? The ride-along crew just picked up some fellow in a restricted zone, and nobody can understand him."

So the recruits were getting some field training experience. And there were still those on the ship who remembered the library drone's language module. "I'd be delighted to be of assistance." Threepio turned toward the door, when she stopped him.

"You can do it from here. They're got him on the intercom." She flipped the receiver's output to speaker mode, and handed it to him. Slipping past him, she returned to her sorting.

"I'm here, sir." He could hear chairs being moved about, and some murmuring among the student MPs. Their training officer acknowledged him. The volume of his voice dropped slightly, as he, presumably turned to speak to their prisoner.

"The interpreter is ready. Please speak slowly so he can hear you."

"Arigato goziemas, jagaimo otamasan3," answered the prisoner.

Threepio clutched the handset. The accent was atrocious, and the pronunciation was hardly recognizable, but the voice was unmistakable.

The speaker was Luke Skywalker.

He shot a glance toward Miss Laurie. She continued to arrange the sheaf of documents, oblivious to the proceedings. The silence, however, attracted her attention. She looked up at him. He motioned toward the receiver, toward her, then toward the door. She tapped her forehead, acknowledging her thoughtlessness, laid the papers on a shelf, and left the room. He closed the door behind her. And secured it.

It was best she wasn't present to hear what he might have to say.

* * *

><p>"Yes, this is the last of it," Miss Laurie said. "It's just a good thing I had those books I bought at the conference shipped back here, instead of bringing them as luggage. That street certainly was a mess!" She stooped to push one of the storage bins closer to the wall, then jammed a row of binders in front of it. "And to think, by the day after tomorrow, the Assessors will be gone, and we can start moving it all back. I could sure use a storeroom topside."<p>

"Must she say that every time she comes here!" the droid thought. Hastily, he grabbed a book from the cart, knocking two others to the floor.

"I'll get them," the woman called cheerfully, pushing another stack of binders back on the cart. She had stepped around the worktable before Threepio interrupted her.

"They're fine where they are. Kindly concentrate on clearing the book cart." She stopped, a look of curious surprise in her eyes, then shrugged.

"As you like," she said, and, once more began transferring the binders to a shelf.

Even as he spoke, the droid regretted his pique. But her constant stream of noise irritated him. He resented being bothered with her nonsense when weightier matters were at stake.

Master Luke was being held prisoner in the detention block of this very ship!

He had flown a low-orbit skimmer into the restricted zone near the ship. Why had he done it? What could he have wanted here? The droid hoped the story he had made up to cover his unintelligible Hykogi gibberish – that he had found the skimmer in a cave (far from the current Rebel base) and had just borrowed it for a spin – would satisfy the interrogators. There had been no awkward questions afterward. Did that mean he would be released? Or would he be held for vehicle theft? Or would the skimmer somehow be traced to the Rebellion? They had always been careful with the misleading vehicle registrations on non-military crafts; but hat that caution changed along with everything else?

Miss Laurie stood with her back to him. He had seen her speaking with the training sergeant earlier. Dare he ask if he had told her anything about his trespassing prisoner?

"I – erm – noticed you in conference with one of the training sergeants. Was it anything important?"

The woman answered without turning. "Not especially. He was just looking for some motion pictures on human body language." Then, she looked over her shoulder at him. "He also thanks you for your help wit that guy they picked up." Threepio's silence may have motivated her to ask, "How did it go?"

"It went well."

"That's good. I don't know where they'd have been without you to translate." She turned back to her stacking. "My Hykogi must be worse than I thought. I think you're going to have to give me some refresher coaching." She opened a bin and began to pack loose report in it. "I thought I heard him call that sergeant a potato head."

_Oh, no!_ Threepio had almost forgotten about her knowledge of that language. Aloud, he said, "I'll be glad to coach you whenever you like." She smiled and nodded. The droid detected no suspicion in her manner. He decided to risk another question.

"Do you know if the prisoner has been released yet?"

"No. But I don't think he will be." Threepio gripped one of the shelves as the woman explained. "The sergeant mentioned that they're cracking down right now on pilots that cross the no-fly zone. I think that drugging incident has shaken up security more than anyone's admitting." Her chattiness grew confidential. "From what I gather, if his story checks out, they would just let him go. As it is, he'll probably go to trial, unless he can pay the fine."

"The fine?"

"Yeah. The sergeant was saying, based on the guy's flight path, that he can only be charged with a moving violation. It isn't a criminal offense, but it has a pretty steep fine."

Threepio asked slowly, "Just how much would it cost to free him?"

Miss Laurie shrugged, "I don't know. I didn't ask" Then she added playfully, "How much have you got?"

"What have I left to give that isn't already hers?"

The emphasis on the word "hers" sent a shiver down the woman's back. Uncertainly, she turned to look at the droid. He stood, clutching the edge of a shelf with both hands; his face pressed against them. The lieutenant stared for a long moment. And trembled.

Eventually, in a low, rough voice, she asked, "Who is he, Ferguson?"

The droid was silent.

"Ferguson, who is he?"

"Do not ask me. I will not say," and the emphatic tense was not lost on the lieutenant,

By now, her face was white, and her lowered voice was harsh, choked with anger. "So that's how it goes. After all that's happened. After all we've done for you. You want to go back to those – ! Those anarchists who'd kill defectors…who incite riots…who would use their leader like a – a – a sex object!" Her voice dropped to a growl. "They've even made you into someone you're ashamed of."

Threepio stood silent, motionless.

"Do you think you would be any better off with the Rebellion running the government? If Those tramps and bandits who can topple civil order, but have no plans to run one? Are those the politics you would defend?"

"Politics!" Threepio snarled, "You think I care about the government! I was made a slave; and I will never be anything more than a slave! I've neither power nor authority; and no stake in any government – ever! How dare you bring up politics to me!:

He whirled to face her – and would have given the rest of his days not to have seen the look on her face. But he went on.

"I will not say who he is, But I would do anything, or allow anything to be done to me, to allow him to go free." He gazed steadily at the lieutenant. She stood frozen, silent, returning his gaze.

Then the communicator on the table buzzed.

The woman needed both hands to pick it up and open it. "Lieutenant Marton," she stammered.

It was Major Jon. The Director and the Assessors had just called an emergency staff meeting, set to begin immediately in one of the lecture halls. She choked out an acknowledgment as the call disconnected. She stared at the droid, then pointed to the door.

"Take the cart back to the library." The droid appeared about to say something, then wordlessly pushed the cart from the room. The woman was left alone. She leaned against the bulkhead and gazed at the open doorway for a long time. Finally, her eyes dropped to her hands, and the comlink she still held.

* * *

><p>Notes:<p>

1Browning, Robert. _The Patriot : An Old Story_ (1855)

2_The Pirates of Penzance_, Act II.

3Thank you very much, Mr. Potatohead


	16. Chapter 16

XVI – A Daring Release

"Ah, yes, my friends, to go back to our masters! –That would be the best that could befall us!"  
><em> The Nurnberg Stove<em>

They're madmen! They're heading for the prison level! If you hurry, you might catch them!  
><em> Star Wars<em>

* * *

><p>He knew pacing was an unproductive activity, but he needed to think. Master Luke had to be released from detention. Threepio knew he would have to do something, but what? What could he do? Whatever it was, he would have to do it soon. Of one thing he was certain:<p>

_Lieutenant Marton knows!_

She may not know his full name, but she understood his position in the Rebellion. Knowing her as he did, he also knew that she would turn him in. She would have no choice. "And I can't let that happen. But — now I'm back where I started – how can I stop it!"

He was sure the lieutenant would not act until after the staff meeting. But, what then? Obviously, Master Luke would have to be gone before that meeting ended.

But how _could_ he help him escape? By now, the droid's pacing had brought him to the library workstation. If only he could hack the prisoner tracking system and drop the trespassing charge. Artoo Detoo could have managed it, perhaps, but manipulating data systems was not one of his talents. As he passed the terminal, he brushed some handouts Miss Laurie had been editing. Several sheets fell to the floor. Among them was a facsimile of a prisoner transfer form. She did have a talent for recreating documents.

Threepio remembered the time one of the faux forms had accidentally wound up in the detention bay. The Officer of the Day had spend an hour trying to figure out what had become of "'Joh Dokkez." The droid paused. With the information he had obtained from the interview…yes! Maybe he could forge a release form!

But the forgery could be traced back to the library in no time. Miss Laurie might not be suspected – she would still be in the staff meeting – so she couldn't be implicated. Could she?

Of course she could. Perhaps not for the forgery, but for something worse. The investigation of who had access to the files would naturally point to him. Instead of a disastrous misprint of a handout, she, and the whole training team, would be found guilty of harboring Rebel contraband. Threepio shuddered at the consequences. The death of the emperor had not made Imperial justice any more merciful.

He leaned heavily against the workstation. That idiotic marquee scrolled across the monitor. "Life's perhaps the only riddle that we shrink from giving up."

A Riddle? It was a Gordian knot! How could he possibly save Master Luke's life, without sacrificing the lives of the unsuspecting training team? Every plan ended up pointing to him.

But if he disappeared before the investigation? What if – he hesitated to consider the wonderful impossibility – what if he could escape with Master Luke? Even if the evidence did point to the library drone, the investigation would be forced to stop there, before Miss Laurie or Major Jon were implicated in a cover-up. One thing was plain: if he were to effect Master Luke's escape, he must not be found on the cruiser!

Master Luke's ship did accommodate two, but how could he possibly get on board? The inflexibility of his joints construction had always prevented him from climbing any type of ladder, boarding or otherwise.

Drone casing, however had been designed for efficiency and economy, not for elegance. As he had discovered long ago, because there was less of it in key places, the casing gave him a greater range of motion. But would there be enough range to climb into a low-orbit skimmer?  
>A sudden clatter startled him. He wheeled around, only to see the sound had been caused by a falling binder. Miss Laurie must have left it on the ladder. He stooped to retrieve the scattered papers.<p>

The ladder!

If he could climb this, he could climb the mounting ladder. The binder was forgotten.

Tentatively, he braced himself against the handrails, and raised his foot. It rested easily on the step. He raised the other foot, and placed it next to the first. One step.

He raised his foot again.

Two steps.

He could feel the limitations of his construction, but one step at a time was more than he had ever been able to manage before.

Three steps. Five more to go.

He glanced toward the door. He would have a most awkward time explaining his position if someone were to walk in unexpectedly.

Six steps.

The height made him feel a little unsteady, but he gripped the handrails tighter and took another step. One step left.

He pushed himself up on the handrails, so his feet barely touched the final step. The ladder held. Cautiously, he tried swinging himself back and forth.

_"I can do it! Thank the Maker, I can do it!" _It would take little effort to swing himself into the passenger seat of a skimmer!

He managed to back down the ladder without stumbling. His escape – _their_ escape – was possible. But would he be in time? He glided to Miss Laurie's workstation, and activated the voice recognition program. He commanded it to open her file directory.

Where had she saved those facsimiles? For once, he was grateful she never deleted anything. There it was! She had called it: "Fake Forms." There were times he appreciated her directness. He skimmed the list of available files.

"Fine Payment Confirmation." That sounded promising. "Open: File Payment Confirmation!" A moment later, he was moving the cursor through the information blanks. His progress was slow, but typing would have been impossible. With a quick look at the door, he continued his work.

"Name; Jaguiemo Otamasan. – Mister potato head!" he thought scornfully. If only Master Luke had asked him for language coaching when it might have done some good! For that matter, how could that substitute leave him so untutored! "Well," Threepio thought, "I'll attend to him later!"

"Residence: Unincorporated rural district, Kennet." That ought to satisfy any inquiry.

Question after question he completed, based on what he had learned , or made up, during the interrogation. Finally, the form was ready. On the screen, to any casual observer it looked like any other fine payment confirmation. If only it looked that credible on paper. With hope so strong it felt like fear, Threepio commanded, "Print!"

The printing progress box opened, then froze. _Oh no! Not now, when time was so precious!_ As it often did under less stressful circumstances, the effort of printing had crashed the program. He would have to reboot and start all over from the beginning.

Wearily, he began the process of closing the unresponsive program, watching the library door all the while. The staff meeting would be over at any moment.

He jumped at the unexpected sound from the workstation. The printer was charging up! A moment later, a completed form lay in the tray. He stared at it in surprise. The program must have crashed after the print job had been queued. He lifted the sheet from the tray as if it were a new-born life – for, in a way, that was what it would become. It was a perfect facsimile.

Now to the detention area, and then…He hardly dared form the word: liberation.

He moved to the door and listened. The corridor was silent. He pressed the control panel. As the door slid open, he looked back at the familiar scene. She – they – they all – had been very kind to him. He thought of Miss Laurie's laughter cascading through the halls, of Major Jon's wild anecdotes; of their kindly plotting to subvert the Director's peremptory orders, in order to give him the results he really wanted. It would be strange not to see them again. If only…

The door closed, and he slipped away, down the empty corridor.

He had made the journey, from elevator, to passage, to elevator again, to the detention level numerous times, but never had he felt more anxious. Would the form satisfy the Officer of the Day? Or the Property Officer? Would they return the skimmer? If only he had thought of that sooner! It was too late to create an addendum for the restoration of forfeited assets! He would just have to brave it out. Master Luke's future depended on it!  
>The elevator door opened. A few steps down the corridor, and he stood before the Detention Officer's desk. The man looked up.<p>

"Yes?" Silently, Threepio presented the Fine Payment Confirmation form. The officer scanned it, then flipped through some notes on a clipboard. He stopped at one page, and compared it with the form, Then he handed back the paper.

"He's in Cell Eight. Escort him to the hangar. The property officer will give him the receipts. That is all." A comlink buzzed, and he turned away from the droid. Affecting a drone's disinterest, Threepio stepped away from the desk, and soon stood before the large "8" on the wall. As was the procedure, he waved at the officer. The man acknowledged his signal, and activated a switch on his console. The panel trundled aside to reveal an ordinary hatch,

A moment later, the hatch slid open, and there, seated on the bench along the back of the cell, was Master Luke. Threepio just looked at him, unable to speak. The years had treated him well. His chest had deepened, and the unruly hair was now cropped short, but it was as sandy as ever. His brow was still unfurrowed. When he rose from the bench, he stood straighter than Threepio remembered. He moved with the confidence of a man who had experienced life, and had found his place in it. He had fulfilled all the promise of those days when they had first joined the Alliance. But there was something missing…

Threepio had been prepared for hostility, or even physical violence; but the man's detached indifference seemed out of character. By this time he was face to face with the droid. His eyes were as blue as he remembered – almost as blue as Captain Solo's had been – but then Threepio realized what he had been searching for; and was unable to find. The light of curiosity had gone out of them. The familiar look of eager interest they once held had been replaced with – nothing at all. They were blank, passionless, almost like the glass eyes of one of Miss Laurie's dolls. But the man was speaking.

"Konichiwa."1

That change in Master Luke had troubled him initially, but Threepio recovered his composure, dismissing the man's appearance as a result of imprisonment. "Come this way," he answered, handing him the Payment Confirmation Form, and gesturing toward the corridor. Without a word, the man stepped out of the cell, as the droid led him toward the hangar deck.

The walk brought back memories. How many times had he escorted Master Luke and Artoo to their ships, before… The man would walk in front, with the other droid humming at his heels. Threepio had always brought up the rear. It amused him to think of how the order had changed. And how many times had he wrestled with the anxiety that it might be the last time he would see either of them? This time, he felt more anxious than ever; but now it was combined with exhilaration. If they can pass unchallenged by the property officer, Master Luke would leave this place unmolested, without having been recognized. And . . "and I'll finally be where I belong," he thought. As he did, he remembered the Substitute. He realized he might have to make a new place for himself among his friends. He had decided that other unit could keep his casing: the increased range of motion he now enjoyed, not to mention the appearance of Imperial property, would only made him more useful. And he looked forward to the service.

The pair threaded their way through the empty corridors. Still, he couldn't shake a sense of uneasiness. What must Master Luke have experienced that would have extinguished that light, which had so defined his personality? The droid had a momentary thrill of terror. Could something have happened to Artoo? The astromech unit accompanying the man had been a stranger. No, Threepio concluded, the little droid had been in fine condition when he last saw him, and no reports of any emergencies that would have been harmful to such a unit had been reported. Threepio finally rejected his fears. Master Luke's demeanor was only a reaction to the situation that had affected him. What else could it be? Considering where the man was, and how close he had come to discovery, it was no wonder he looked aloof.

The Property Officer at the hangar checkpoint stopped them. "May I see your form, please?"

The droid had to admire his master's response. He looked confused, and stammered what would have been an apology for not understanding the order, if he had pronounced it correctly. The guard simply pointed toward the release in his hand, and gestured toward himself. Luke frowned at the paper, then with wide-eyed trust presented it to the officer. Threepio watched intently as the guard scanned the form.

The guard turned away to look through another stack of papers. He pulled out a sheet, compared it with Master Luke's form, then handed it to the man.

"This is your copy." He refiled the original document. "Now everything appears to be in order." The droid relaxed in relief. "Your ship is in Bay Number Three. Good day."

"Domo arigato." The young man had appeared surprised at the pleasantry, but, Threepio observed, he recovered his feigned ignorance of the language before the officer noticed. He bowed slightly to the guard, and moved along. The droid followed close behind him.

The great chamber reverberated with the squeal of cranes heaving engines and cockpit equipment, the banging of technicians loosening frozen couplings, and the crackling of fusing units resealing access panels. Under it all was the distant thunder of the main reactors. The racket reassured Threepio. It would cover any conversation they might have – and that reminded him.

"Sir," he said, touching the man's shoulder, "No one can hear us now, and time is critical. You might communicate more freely if you forego the Hykogi."

This time, Master Luke did look surprised. Threepio noted the light of wonder flash in his eyes, but grow dim again. By then, they had reached Hangar Three. There squatted the little skimmer. An astromech unit peered from its post, and twittered a greeting as it recognized the young man. The mounting ladder, to his joy, was a duplicate of the library's. They were sure to succeed this time!

"Sir, if you wouldn't mind opening the force shield, I believe I can board unaided by the time you need to begin the takeoff sequence."

"What do you think you're going to board?" Luke asked, dispensing with his cumbersome disguise.

"Why, the ship. I'm going with you." An uncertain fear seized him. "Aren't I?"

The man frowned sullenly. "I'm not going to steal any drones."

"But I'm not a drone! I'm a droid! I don't belong to the Empire; I belong to the Alliance! I was confiscated during a raid, and –"

"And you still function?' the man asked coldly.

Threepio stared at him, stunned. On the answer to that question, the fate of the Alliance had long depended. But, in a dreadful condemning flash, he realized that, if the man had to ask the question, he would never understand the answer. There would be no opportunity to explain it.

"I – I had to," he faltered. Luke did not appear to have heard him. He turned toward the ship. "Go open the force shield." In desperation, Threepio still fumbled for an explanation. The man exclaimed impatiently, "Get over there before I blast you!" He mounted the boarding ladder.

The order, not the threat, sent Threepio to the control panel. "He doesn't want me," he thought in despair. "He doesn't recognize me!" He leaned hopelessly against the spacelock activator, when Reason took hold of him. "He doesn't' _recognize_ me! How could he, in this casing! " He called, "Master Luke, please believe me! I do belong to the Alliance! I belong to _you_! A party of troopers confiscated me during the raid on the Kong Base! I had to keep functioning, to protect what I know!"

Luke seated himself in the craft. The ignition stage began. The hiss of the engines must have drowned out his voice.

_The voice! I still sound like a drone!_ He cried out again, louder, hoping against hope he could still generate what had once been his own voice.

"Sir, they sent a substitute in my place! I've tried to get back to you, but can't escape without help! Please take me with you!"

Luke began to close the cockpit.

"Oh, no – please — shoot me now, if you must, but don't leave me behind! I can't stay here any longer!"

The final ignition stage began.

"You're my last hope! Oh, Please, Master Luke! DON'T YOU KNOW WHO I AM!"

The shockwave broke against him as the ship burst from the hangar.

_"But you shouldn't have bailed me out. It was entirely too risky. What if the funds are traced?" Luke was saying as he embraced Leia. Her perplexed expression startled him almost as much as his sudden release._

_"That's the strange part. The Alliance didn't pay the fine." Luke drew back in surprise. "No one even knew you had been captured until you got back." She looked at him searchingly. "We've no idea where that money came from. Did anything odd happen that might give us a clue?"_

_Luke sat down, the picture of bewilderment. "Odd? That whole detention was odd!' He leaned back, and began to count on his fingers. "First, I speak to the guards in Hykogi…"_

_"Oh, dear!" Threepio muttered softly. Though they had not noticed his presence at first, the pair now turned to look at him "I'm sorry to have interrupted," he said, embarrassed at having drawn attention to himself. "But, if you'll forgive me, Master Luke, your capabilities with that language do sound – well - unconvincing. If you like, sir, I would be only too pleased to coach…" But Luke continued his story._

_"And that's where things started getting really strange. The interrogators told the interpreter to ask me what I was doing in the restricted area. But the interpreter said, "Talk long: where you from?' I don't know what came over me, but I did it. You're right about my Hykogi, Threepio: I don't even know what I said. Yet the interpreter managed to spin it into some yarn about how I had found the ship in a cave – a cave in a different mountain range! – and had gone joyriding. He didn't translate what I said at all. He told the guards what I should have said." He rubbed his temple, still incredulous. "I think I even called one of the interrogators a potato head, and he turned it into a compliment! Why?"_

_"Who was interpreting?" Leia inquired._

_"I never saw him. It was all done by intercom."_

_"As far as I know, we have no operatives on that ship."_

_The friends looked at each other, as if seeking an explanation. But there were no reasonable explanations to give._

_"Then, when I was released, the drone that escorted me seemed to think I was going to take it with me."_

_"A drone?" Leia asked._

_"Only it claimed it wasn't a drone. It said it was a droid that had been captured during a raid."_

_"Oh, that's absurd! The only droid ever taken in a raid was I," Threepio exclaimed. "Besides, no self-respecting droid would willingly serve the Empire."_

_Leia agreed. "It was obviously some sort of trap."_

_"Trap or not, I should have risked it." Luke frowned regretfully. "It seemed so certain, and so desperate. I shouldn't have been so harsh with it."_

_"It's the only way to get compliance from Imperial drones. They're used to it," Leia assured him. "Did it say anything else?"_

_"It claimed it had to keep functioning. I assumed it was a trick. But then…" His voice trailed off, and Luke looked thoughtful as he explained, "There's a point during that ship's ignition cycle, just before acceleration, when the engine goes silent. Just then, I could have sworn I heard…" His voice trailed off. Suddenly, he said, "Threepio, do you remember anything about your time with the Empire? Anything at all?"_

_The droid had been taken aback at the question, but then considered it. Finally, he said, "No, Master Luke. The time between my memory backup and its restoration is a complete blank. And yet," he said softly, " Once in a while, I feel the shadow of a memory that doesn't fit with any experience I've had, and when I try to examine it," He spread his hands suddenly as if to demonstrate, "It's gone." His arms fell to his sides. "I'm sorry I can't be of more help."_

_"Oh, Threepio," Leia smiled, "We're glad to have you back no matter what you remember."_

_The droid appeared abashed at the compliment. "Why…Thank you," he stammered._

_The woman looked from the droid to the man. "So we're all together again, with no harm done. I think the best thing to do is to forget all about this strange story!" She moved toward the corridor, with Threepio close behind. "Coming, Luke?"_

_"Yes…Yes." Resolution overcame his uncertainty. She was probably right: no doubt forgetting was for the best. And yet, the man knew forgetting these events would be difficult; because he had not told them the strangest event of all…_

* * *

><p><em>He sat alone in the gloom of the holding cell. Abruptly, the hatch slid open. Instead of the trooper he had expected to see, a uniformed woman stood in the opening, with crossed arms. She said nothing; she merely gazed at him with curious disapproval.<em>

_Finally, he said, "Nani ga hoshii desu ka?" He hoped he had said "What do you want?"_

_"Nothing. I just wanted to get a look at you." Evidently, she knew some Hykogi, though she did not answer in that language. She continued to study him. As she did, Luke felt an uneasiness he had not felt in years._

_"Wakarimasen." [I don't understand.]_

_She smiled coldly. "If you say so." It was obvious she didn't believe him. Was her knowledge of the language good enough to recognize how bad his was? She just stood, scanning him. Finally, she muttered, "I don't know what you've done to deserve that kind of loyalty, but it's saved you."_

_Wakarimasen."_

_"No doubt. Someone should be along presently with your release form. By then, your droid should be loaded, and your ship ready for takeoff." She added, with a trace of sarcasm, " Go and make better use of your life." She turned to go._

_Like knew that local courtesy demanded he give a response. He managed, "Domo arrigato."__2_

_"Don't touch your moustache."__3_

_ Her amused smile was almost friendly. Again she turned, then turned back to face the young man. "But you have another droid: an ambulatory gold translator. Be good to him. He is more valuable to you than you will ever know." The hatch slid closed, leaving the man mystified.  
><em>

* * *

><p><em>Notes:<em>

1"Hello" ]Japanese\

2"Thank you."

3A common transliteration of "Dō itashi mashie" : "You're welcome."


	17. Chapter 17

XVII – Evacuation

How he reached the library Threepio couldn't recall.

Miss Laurie was waiting for him in the doorway, as grim and threatening as a thunderhead. He had hardly crossed the threshold before she closed the door and leaned against it.

"I have only one question. If you had to choose between service at Atlantan or Bemidjin, which would be easier for you?"

"Atlantan."

"Thank you." She sprang from the door to her workstation. "That will be your assignment." She typed rapidly, then emphatically struck the enter key. "Something's gone wrong. I don't know what's happened, but I just got orders that the entire drone pool is to be replaced." She leaned back and grabbed the paper issuing from the printer. "The loading has already begun at the main sallyport.' She thrust the paper into his hand.

"What – what …" Threepio looked blankly at the orders, still too dazed to keep up with what she had said.

"There isn't time for an explanation," Miss Laurie said. "I think the assessors might have gotten suspicious, and may be looking for you. So be careful."

He heard himself say, "Yes, ma'am."

Miss Laurie's hard expression softened a little. "You might be interested to know that your – the prisoner you were so concerned about – has been released, and, I believe, has left the ship. But this can't happen again." The flicker of an ironic smile crossed her face. "I can't afford it."

She rose and stepped from behind her workstation. "I hope you can find your way home from Atlantan."

"Thank you, ma'am." He turned to go.

"And, Ferguson –"

He stopped in the doorway.

"– Please believe me when I say that I had no idea until today that you were _that_ miserable. And I'm truly sorry for my part in having made you so."

Without turning, the droid acknowledged her farewell with a nod, and stepped into the corridor.

* * *

><p>Threepio stood silently, watching the drones moving about in the passage. Eventually, they turned, and disappeared into the sallyport. Presently, he would join them. Another drone on its way to a new assignment. He would have to join them. And disappear into…<p>

He glanced at the orders in his hand and turned away. He couldn't do it. He had lived a lie to protect the lives of others, but merely to continue his own existence? And what is a drone's existence? He looked back at the drones, gradually moving toward the sallyport. They reminded him of a school of black and silver fish, aimlessly gliding about, with no memory of a past and no interest in a future. With no individuality, no consciousness, no awareness beyond compliance, they drifted through a continual meaningless present

_I hope you can find your way back home from Atlantan._

How little organics understood the fragility of mechanical existence. He would never find his way home from Atlantan. Instead, he would forget he ever _had_ a home. If he presented himself as a drone, he, too, would undergo their post-assignment memory flush; effectively becoming one of them. Every circuit in him rebelled at that fate. Yet what else could he do? All the units had been ordered removed from the ship. And, if it was discovered that he was really a droid, it would mean the lives of those who had tried to protect him, if not innocent bystanders, as well. The events on Kennet were proof that his knowledge of the Rebellion was still valuable. Might it not be best to join the eddying shoal, and forget all\?

No.

As painful as the memories were, they still remained precious. Yet how much more painful would those memories be if, through his agency, those who had made them precious were destroyed? Again, as he had so long ago, it seemed he had no choice. He watched the movement in the corridor, reluctant to join the flow.

A ripple in the current attracted his attention. To his surprise, he realized one drone, clutching its orders, was slowly moving away from the loading bays. As the unit reached the passageway where Threepio stood, curiosity impelled him to confront it.

"The sallyport is in the other direction. Don't your orders tell you to report there?" He asked, with the quiet authority most effective when speaking to drones.

"No, sir." Evidently, Threepio's manner had caused the unit to mistake him for a master. "My orders are to report to the maintenance bay. I am to be dismantled and scrapped."

"Scrapped!" The exclamation escaped the droid, but he immediately resumed a calmer tone. "Do you know why you are to be dismantled?"

"No, sir."

"What were your duties?"

"I know of no duties. I have no memory of being summoned until today."

Understanding was beginning to dawn on the droid. "What happened when you were summoned?"

"A master asked me many questions I could not answer. He ordered me to return to my station. Then the technicians gave the units their orders. My orders were different from the others," it added, needlessly.

"Show me your orders." The drone handed him the paper. A brief scan, and Threepio knew exactly why the unit was to be destroyed. And he knew what to do.

"Ten-oh two-forty-eight. Is this your operating number?"

"Yes, sir."

He paused a moment and said, "It is good that I found you. I have your orders here." He placed his own sheet of paper into the unit's hand. "These are your orders." The drone stared at it.

"Are these my orders, sir?"

"Are these orders for Unit Ten-oh two-forty-eight?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then those are your orders," Threepio said quietly. "Now you must go to the sallyport for processing."

The drone turned; then stopped. It looked at him and asked, with great effort, "What are _you_ going to do?" It wasn't often that a drone had an independent idea.

The droid merely replied, "You must hurry. They are waiting for you." As quickly as its idea had formed, it vanished again. The drone turned and walked down the corridor. Threepio watched it until it disappeared into the sallyport.

So that was why, in all the time he had been on the ship, no investigation had exposed him. That unit and he had shared an operating number. It had been another decoy. Today, the assessors must have become suspicious, and questioned the drone. The orders had been intended to dispose of a possible information leak. He wondered briefly if Miss Laurie had known, but concluded it sounded more like one of Major Jon's ploys.

But it didn't matter now. He moved with decision toward the maintenance bay.

Well, after all, it could hardly be called suicide. He had his orders – those that had been intended for him – and he was merely acting on them. No unfortunate droid or inoffensive drone would take his place this time.

The bay was empty when he arrived. The technicians were all busy processing the unit transfer. Threepio was glad he was alone. There would be less chance of discovery this way. He had assisted with disposal work before, and knew the routine. The copy of the orders was impaled on the spindle. A confirmation checked in the online log. And then for the compactor. The chamber was small, compared to a standard garbage compactor, but suited to its purpose. By the light of the blue diodes surrounding the entry, Threepio surveyed the mechanical charnel house. Normally, the sight left him shuddering, but now it held no terrors. He sank onto a pile of defective motivators to the right of the hatch, next to a scorched housekeeping unit, whose central processor had overheated. He pulled a discarded arm and some shattered casing across his feet and chest. In two days, this compactor was due to be activated. Even if the chamber was searched, no one would notice that, among the dismembered parts, one unit was still intact.

As he lay back, his memory drifted to those he had known. Miss Laurie, Major Jon, Artoo Detoo, Princess Leia, Chewbacca, Captain Solo, Mas…Master Luke. His thoughts rested briefly on each of them. Finally, they would be completely safe. Safe from unintentional betrayal and accidental exposure. With certainty he had not felt since the day he had been taken from the rebel base, Threepio finally closed down.


	18. Chapter 18

XVIII – Quarantine

Threepio's first sensation was of dazed bewilderment. What manner of place was this? He thought he could feel himself reclined on an uneven, unstable surface. It felt as if small objects rested against his casing. They seemed to tumble aside as he shifted his position. He tried to activate his photosensors, but everything remained dark. He thought he could detect a cloud of blue stars, far in the distance. He watched the lights, the gentle, peaceful lights, musing _So this is what it is to be_…

Then he realized his photosensors _were_ activated. What he was looking at was the reflection of work lights on the scrap in the compacting unit! He was as he had been when he closed down: on his back, half-buried in discarded drone parts.

_No! I couldn't have failed at this, too!_ He lay in the silence of the chamber, staring into the darkness above him in dismay. _What could have gone wrong! Did I awaken too soon? _ No, that wasn't it. As he checked his internal chronometer, he was surprised to find that he had been unconscious long enough to cleanse and defragment his entire memory system: a process that, under normal conditions could take from forty to sixty days. In that space of time, the scrap should have been compressed several times. Yet the compactor had never been engaged. "Why?" he asked himself.

His only answer was the deep silence.

Silence?

He sat up, quickly brushing aside the refuse that lay across his chest. The ship was never silent. The bass chords of the reactors always filled the air; but now, nothing. Only in the greatest emergency would the main reactors be shut down.

Something dreadful has happened.

He struggled to his feet, and stumbled across the refuse. The blue diodes surrounding the door still glowed brightly, so the reactors could not have been offline long. Perhaps it was their shutdown cycle that hat roused him. He jerked the handle, which mercifully turned in his grasp. He pushed the hatch open a crack and peeked into the maintenance bay.

It was nearly as dark as the compacting chamber, and empty. Threepio stepped into the room, not bothering to reseal the compactor hatch. Hurriedly, he moved through the bay, and entered the corridor. Only the eerie glow of the emergency lights, and the sound of his own footsteps accompanied him.

Almost before he realized where he was heading, he reached the barracks portion of the ship. Glancing through the doorways as he passed, he could see many of the bunks occupied – but many more of them empty. The low sound of murmuring, and the shadows moving on the wall, terrified, yet somehow reassured him. In any event, the ship had not been abandoned. But the question remained: what had happened!

Miss Laurie! What had become of her! Whatever had taken place may have been so unspeakable that… He could not bring himself to complete the thought. What if their parting _had_ been less than cordial? He could hardly blame her for her fear of discovery. But this was different. She would explain the turn of events… if she could. _If she could!_ His pace quickened. The atmosphere in the corridors felt oppressive, but whether from dread or lack of circulation, he was not sure.

He passed alone through the corridors to the officers' quarters.

Most of the doors were open. The darkened rooms were empty. From behind some of the closed doors, he could hear movement and indistinct voices. To his dismay – or possibly his relief – Miss Laurie's door was closed and silent. Then there was only one other place she could be. So he went, to the left, left again, and down the main corridor. Turning a corner, he saw that a doormat of light lay before the library entry. He looked in.  
>The tables were in their customary disarray, but a document scanner had been added. In the usual spot, at the workstation, a figure – for it <em>was<em> Miss Laurie – was resting her face on her arms. Her shoulders rose with periodic deep breaths. Her tunic was unbuttoned, and her cover was nowhere to be seen. As quietly as he could, so as not to startle her, Threepio approached her.

"Miss Laurie?" She raised her head, and turned in his direction. He was shocked at how drawn her face now appeared. The reflection of a desk lamp obscured the shadows under her eyes, but nothing could conceal the ashen complection. She turned to look at him. "Miss Laurie, are you ill? What happ… Miss Laurie!"

She had often talked about doing it, but it was the first time he had ever seen her fall out of he chair.

"But how did you get here!" The woman finally managed to stammer, as he helped her to her feet. Her voice was shrill and breathless. "I saw you get on the transport!" He debated whether to tell her where he had been.

"Never mind that, " he said. By now she had started to sob. He guided her back into the swivel chair. She was so limp that she nearly fell again. She buried her face in her arms, weeping against the workstation. He watched her obvious grief, then said, "I'm sorry to have distressed you so."

"Distressed! I've never been happier to se anyone in my life!" Impulsively, she grasped his arms, as if trying to reassure herself that he was real, and not a hallucination. "I've sorry to go to pieces like this on you. I've been so scared since you left"

"But, tell me: what has happened here? What has happened to you? You look perfectly wretched."

"I feel wretched, and far from perfect." For a moment, Threepio was encouraged by her familiar, feeble joke. But only for a moment. "I'm sick. Everybody's sick." She laid her head on her arms again and rubbed her temples. "The morgue is nearly full. But I'm one of the lucky ones: I'm supposed to be getting better…" She gave a profound sigh. From her troubled expression, it was plain she was not convinced.

"You still haven't told me what happened," Threepio reminded her gently.

She shook her head and covered her face again, gasping, "Where does one begin!"

Too many things had happened on the _Vigilant_ in too short a time for a simple answer; but, between the sobs and digressions, Threepio pieced together the story.

For one thing, the assessors had given the training team a top rating, as usual, and the drone transfer had _not_ been ordered because of any suspicions on their part. It had been a pre-scheduled redistribution of resources. But Major Jon and the Director _did_ have a passionate shouting match that may have had something to do with the drones. No one was sure, though Miss Laurie thought the Director may have suspected that the mysterious Lieutenant Ferguson was, in fact, the library drone. He never said anything to her directly. She was certain, though, the argument had involved the Director's order to scrap one of the units. _So it was the Director who had ordered the destruction of the that decoy!_ the droid thought. _Its denials must have infuriated him!_ In any event, the Director _did_ confine Jon to quarters: a hasty decision which angered most of the trainers. On top of that, some discontent – almost violent discontent, in fact – had arisen between the training team and the crew. The fracas on Kennet had resulted in _all_ leaves being revoked, and the troops blamed the trainers. "Things got so ugly," Miss Laurie confided, "that I was debating whether I could resign, and just get out of here. The mediating officers even offered the training team the chance to buy out their commissions, if they wanted. A few of them did, too." But Threepio knew that dedication to their training mission would have kept most of the team on the ship.

As for the drones, the ship was to have received a fresh rotation of units, along with technicians to service them, within a day or so. Only, they never came. It was discovered later that, due to a corrupted database, the _Vigilant_'s requisition had been lost. By the time the error was discovered, though…

Telling of that mistake reminded the woman of another assumption she had made. "You know that drugged wine at the banquet? It turns out it wasn't the Rebels at all! The hotel owner had done it! It was a scheme to collect insurance money, and a government settlement, to pay for remodeling the place!" Threepio thought back to the lockdown of the lobby he had observed: actions that now made sense. Miss Laurie almost laughed as she added, "When your princess turned up, I was sure the Rebels had done it. But I was wrong." But the droid knew she was not wrong. He was positive the Rebels had indeed planned to start a riot, unaware that the hotel owner had the same idea. No wonder the drug had been so potent! By the time the Princess had spiked the wine, it was already, well, fortified. "I'm glad I didn't tell anyone about seeing her," Miss Laurie concluded. There, Threepio silently agreed. The liberty ban on the ship was lifted, but by then it was too late…

The real trouble had already started. The _Vigilant_ was assigned to provide training to the correctional officers of a new prison. Though it was still under construction, its staff was beginning to arrive. But when the _Vigilant_ tried to make contact with the facility, the ship had received no answer. After several attempts, a landing party was dispatched. Here, the story became vague. "Nobody would talk about what they found, aside from a burned-out barracks, and everybody being dead." The woman had shuddered as she said it, but then had looked at him, as if he might have an explanation. He urged her to go on. Apparently, the staff dormitory had caught fire, and they had died in the blaze.

"Oh, how dreadful!" the droid interjected softly. "And no one escaped the flames?

The woman gave him another odd look. "I don't think any of them could. I haven't figured out how the fire started, but I think they were already dead." In spite of his expressionless faceplate, the droid looked perplexed. "Wait until you hear what happened next, and see what _you_ think." She went on with her story.

A larger detail was sent to investigate and to clean up the remains. The incident was reported to the Ministry of Justice, and the _Vigilant_ maintained its orbit, in anticipation of new orders, and a fresh drone pool.

Then the Director got sick. Within days, he was dead. Several members of the cleanup detail showed similar symptoms; then some of the troops. Testing showed they had a mutated variety of – and she named a disease familiar, though not common, to space travelers. Threepio knew that those infections were often fatal, so vaccinations were mandatory in the Starfleet. Nevertheless, several more crew members died. Then a couple of troops showed a new set of symptoms. Again, a familiar, though virulent, disease had infected the crew. The ship had been put under quarantine, while the Ministry of Justice and the Ministry of Health debated which of them had authority over the situation. But, because neither of them wanted the responsibility, neither of them would authorize the delivery of supplies. With much of the crew ill, or becoming so, the ship needed medicine, rations, and medical assistance, but could obtain none.

The Ministry of Health had determined almost immediately that the source of the infection was the prison site. Because of the malignance of the diseases, it was hesitant to send in a decontamination crew. That Ministry ordered the demolition of the prison. The Ministry of Justice countermanded the orders, claiming that the Ministry of Health had no authority over any of its facilities. The Ministry of Justice further mandated that the health officers oversee the site's sterilization. The Ministry of Health countercharged that the Ministry of Justice had no power to mandate anything so far as it was concerned – and around and around they went. In the meantime, the _Vigilant_ had a sick bay filled past capacity, insufficient drugs, no mechanicals to help with patient care, and inadequate rations for a long quarantine.

It was more than the crew could take. At the prospect of being forced to die of pestilence or starvation, they mutinied. "I can understand why they would do it," Miss Laurie commented unhappily, "But didn't they get it? If they left the ship, they would only start an epidemic somewhere else!" Infecting strangers, however, was the least of their concerns. The reactors had been shut down to keep the mutineers from moving the ship. Failing in their attempts to take over the bridge and the engine room, they resorted to the escape pods. Only with difficulty could the woman relate those events. "Jon told me to stay in my quarters and barricade the door. So I had gone into the salon and pulled the armoire flat against the opening. Through the hull I heard everything. All eighteen of them!" Then she shivered and started to cry again. "Them," it turned out, was the blasting of each of the escape pods. Instead of avoiding their fate, it came to the mutineers, instantaneously. Threepio let her weep. But she had more to tell.

Once the quarantine had been so vigorously enforced, the captain had, for good measure, ordered the prison site to be to torpedoed. It was his last order before the illness took him. Miss Laurie half-heartedly quipped, "By the time the deed was done, neither of the Ministries could do anything to him. Now there's nothing left but a glassy valley, about a hundred and fifty meters deeper than before."

Valley? The illnesses suddenly sounded familiar.

Threepio broke in urgently. "Where is the ship now?"

"Drifting around Threnet. Why?" _Merciful power! It couldn't be the same site!_

"Do you know _where_ on Threnet the prison had been built?"

Miss Laurie looked confused. "I don't know the specific coordinates, but it was in some valley that could only be reached by air."

Threepio turned away in dismay. "I might have known. Then they did finish it!"

"Finish what? What's happening to us?" As he faced her, she added, "I haven't any pencils."

"Never mind that now! You are in terrible danger. I only hope it isn't too late!" He explained, "There was to have been a Rebel base on Threnet –"

"I remember you mentioning it."

"–I believe it was buried in a landslide; but it was located in a valley accessible only by air…"

"Are you saying the prison was built on top a Rebel base?" She shrugged. ""So what?"

"The purpose of that base was to study biological weapons. One of its programs was to develop a bioweapon lethal to members of the Imperial starfleet." The droid began to pace in agitation.

"How would they do that?" The woman looked intrigued, rather than frightened.

"By basing the bioagents on their vaccinations. As you know, all recruits receive antibodies for one or the other of the two illnesses afflicting this ship –" The woman nodded, though she could still see no connection, "– So, by combining the two, personnel would be infected by whichever disease for which they had not been immunized." He looked back at Miss Laurie. Instead of reacting with anger or indignation, the explanation had left her looking hurt; as if a friend had betrayed her. "I'm – I'm so terribly sorry," Threepio faltered.

"I guess I never expected the Rebels to stoop to something like that." She sighed, but then looked up at him. "But what if somebody's been vaccinated for both?"

"That's what made that strain so fearsome," he began hesitantly. "I don't know the details, and I certainly don't know how or why, but the reports were that, when both sets of antibodies were present, the agent caused some sort of reaction with the body's chemicals and electrical system, leading to seizures, circulatory failure and –" he paused uncertainly "– combustion."

Miss Laurie stared at him. "You've got to be kidding!" With an encouraging show of spirited disbelief, she snorted, "People don't spontaneously combust! I've got the reports to prove it," She waved toward the shelves surrounding them, nearly lost in the gloom.

Threepio shrugged helplessly. "I'm only reporting what I heard. I never said I understood it."

The woman rolled her eyes, but then looked thoughtful. "What are the symptoms of that third sickness?"

Threepio was pacing again. "I don't know for certain. I wish I did. I only heard about this plot once, and then came the landslide." He stopped. "I do remember one thing. Because, by extension, the circulatory system is affected, something happens to the veins. Yes! That was it: The major veins tended to swell. I know I heard references to 'tracks.'"

"Tracks?" Miss Laurie echoed.

"Yes. They were most noticeable in the wrists, arms, and ankles. Once the illness has taken hold, they would fade, but the sure sign of infection was the tracks."

"Like these."

Miss Laurie had unbuttoned her cuffs, and rolled back her sleeves. Threepio bent over to look at her outstretched arms. By the light of the workstation, he could see enlarged scarlet blotches of capillaries, surrounding the thick purple veins.

Tracks!

"Oh, Laurie…"

But there were no tears this time. Her expression did not even change. In fact, she almost smiled. "On my home world, all children get shots for that first disease. Because I had been vaccinated for both, they said I would be getting better soon." She shook her head. " It's funny: as they said it, I knew it was too good to be true." The swivel chair gave a forlorn creak as she leaned back in it. "Well…I guess I won't have to worry about my vision problems any more."

"I…maybe I'm wrong! I could easily be, you know. I never was directly informed about the activities in the lab. Maybe it's merely an unrelated symptom! Maybe you _are_ beginning to recover…" He tried to be hopeful, but knew he merely sounded frantic. The woman stared into space. Then she shook her head.

"No. You're right. I couldn't tell you how I know, but I know."

By now he droid's hand was on the woman's shoulder. "Oh, Laurie."

Neither spoke, or even moved, for some minutes. She sat, tearless and calm, gazing into the shadows. He stood, watching her. He thought he had seen that expression before, as they had hurtled through the mine shafts on Kennet: resignation, with calm acceptance. But finally he spoke, "But what I don't understand is why you didn't simply buy out your commission when the chance was offered," He added mournfully, "I wish you had."

The woman smiled at his sympathy. "It cost more than I could pay." The droid stepped back, and surveyed her.

"Just how much did you owe on it?"

"About eight thousand credits."

"Is that all?" Threepio exclaimed. "Your inheritance should have covered it, with enough left over for a comfortable retirement annuity."

"I'd already spent it."

"You spent it?" Threepio was dumbfounded. " How could you possibly have spent it in this short of time? You had over fifty thousand credits!"

"But the fine was fifty-five."

"Fine? What fine? What are you talking …" Threepio began, when he seemed to hear a voice in his memory saying,

_"This can't happen again. I can't afford it."_

_Afford_ it!

"You bought his release!" Threepio whispered. "You set him free!"

"Sure." Miss Laurie looked up at him." That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

So that's why Master Luke's escape had been so easy. That form he thought he had forged had not been forged at all. It had been a genuine Fine Payment Confirmation! Threepio was speechless at the woman's insane generosity… and at the doubly terrible price she had paid.

"Wasn't it what you wanted?" Miss Laurie repeated, searching his faceplate for a response.

"Yes," Threepio said slowly, softly, "It was what I wanted."

Miss Laurie smiled. " I'm glad. And I'm glad he wasn't here for _this_. I wouldn't' wish this on anybody." She took a deep breath, gathering her strength. "Well, I'd better go report this intelligence to Jon." She made a wry face. "He was supposed to be recovering, too. But he's sturdier than I am. Maybe he still will." She tried to rise, but, in her weakness, the swivel chair was stronger than she. It spun her back into the seat. Threepio steadied the chair for her.

"_I'll_ go tell Major Jon. You rest here, and wait for me." He turned to go, then looked back. Miss Laurie had laid her head on her arms again. By the light of the workstation's monitor, her complection looked almost blue. He returned to the desk. "Will you be all right?"

"I'll live," she started to say, as she had, so many times before. Then she caught herself – and started to laugh. The sound was but a trickle of the torrent it had once been, She fell back in the chair, gasping. "I am going to die," she amended, "But not just yet."

They were the most painful words Threepio had ever heard.


	19. Chapter 19

XIX - A Plan for Escape

Into terror, into valor! Charge ahead! Don't ever turn!  
>Yes, it's into the fire we fly, and the devil will burn!<br>Someone has to face the valley…  
>Into the Fire (The Scarlet Pimpernel)<p>

* * *

><p>Except for Threepio and Miss Laurie, the mess hall was empty. The stark white walls reflected the remaining light, giving \the room the impression of cheerfulness, in contrast to the tunnel-like hallways outside. But the emptiness told another story.<p>

The pair sat in a corner, and spoke in low voices, so as not to awaken the echos. But, at the moment, neither felt much like talking. Too many troops needed care, and too few still felt well enough to provide it. As Threepio watched her toying with a battered cardboard cup half filled with tea, his thought drifted back to the events of the past week.

Of course, the revelation about their chance of recovery had only added to the survivors' distress. Oddly, their reaction had not been fear, but resignation. Perhaps it was a good thing. When the nature of the infections was reported to the Ministry of Health, the officials supervising the situation on the _Vigilant_ determined that, at that time, no prescribed medical treatment existed for that combination of illnesses. One research team commenced a search for a vaccine, and another analyzed predictive simulations of viral behavior for methods of treatment. But neither team would complete their work in time to help those remaining on that doomed ship. Over the Ministry of Justice's protests, the Ministry of Health had condemned it. ("We were condemned some time ago," Miss Laurie remarked dryly when the decision was announced.) That meant that decontamination was considered too risky. Instead, the ship would be destroyed. Once the periodic scans detected no life forms, it would be directed into the nearest star. "Awfully decent of them to wait for everybody to die first," Miss Laurie had muttered. Those who had heard her had chuckled. But, then, even grim humor was appreciated. So it was no surprise that, when news came that the Ministry of Justice was demanding payment from the Ministry of Health for the loss of the ship, the whole crew laughed out loud. Those who were still able, at least.

To Threepio's surprise, no one had challenged, or even questioned, the sudden reappearance of "Ferguson." Perhaps they had merely come to expect the presence of drones, even if he was the only one; but an untiring helper was something to be welcomed gratefully. His help in tending the weak, soothing the ill, and moving the …others, had become essential.  
>As the medics had predicted (before the illness took them), Miss Laurie did rally. Once more, her complection was pink and her manner brisk, but Threepio couldn't help but note the deep, rough gasps she often took, and her sudden spells of exhaustion. But when they passed, she would get up again, to return to ekeing out meals for the crew from the remaining stores, to cheering the sick, and relaying their messages…their messages home. Home. Threepio lingered over the word. He watched as she absently swirled the tea in the cup.<p>

Suddenly, the woman began to giggle.

Threepio was incredulous, yet indignant. "What can you possibly find to laugh at in this situation?"

"It just occurred to me that we're all getting a Viking funeral1, whether we want one or not." She sipped her tea. "I hope the dogs at our feet are optional.".She made a face. "I'm a terrible cook. This tea is awful."

"Nothing of the kind: you've accomplished wonders. The water is brackish," The droid said reassuringly, in an effort to distract her from the more dismal topic.

She laughed again, but then began to sing softly,

_We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out,  
>And the ship lost its way in the fog.<em>

How could she sing at a time like this!

And that whale of a crew was reduced down to two,  
>Just himself, and the skipper's old dog.2<p>

She added a bark.

"Stop it," Threepio ordered gently, but she went on.

_Then the ship struck a rock, and, oh, what a shock,  
>The bulkhead turned right over,<br>Turned nine times around, and the poor old dog was drowned –_

His hand pressed her shoulder, as she ended with,

_You're the last of the Irish Rover!_

That crooked half-smile slipped across her face. "You will be, you know." She sighed deeply.

"Let's just skip that for now." He changed the subject. "Have you made much progress on the document scans?"

The woman rested her chin on her hands. "Fairly well, if the pages don't jam. The scanner's running now. And the data dumps seem to be working all right." As soon as the quarantine had been declared, Miss Laurie had begun digitizing the most unique reports and lesson plans in the library collection. Call it a premonition. So, when the ship was – well, when they knew the contents of the ship would not be transferred elsewhere – she was able to download them to the Ministry of Justice's network. "But I have another premonition," she had confided. "I have a sick feeling that they'll be lost forever in that mess. But I guess they have a better chance there than they do here" The droid knew the amount of work she had put into obtaining, or creating, some of those items, and hoped she was wrong.

Then, when she wasn't transmitting reports, there were those messages for the families of the crew. Happily (at least by comparison), those transmissions were being received. And answered. If they arrived in time, Miss Laurie read the responses to the men. More often, though, she would ask Threepio to do it: she couldn't see to read. But it was for tears, not vision failure. Sometimes, even he had to stop mid-sentence to regain his composure.

These had not been brutal, nameless thugs struck down in battle. They were kindly people, facing the last, untimely separation from those who cared about them. It was all so disgracefully wrong.  
>Miss Laurie looked up suddenly, recalling him from his gloomy reflections. "What about Commander Hitch?" she asked.<p>

"Must we talk about him –and _that_ – now?" Threepio sighed.

She gave him a chiding smirk, "All considered, _that_ is a hard subject to avoid." In spite of all the gruesome jokes, the word "death" was seldom mentioned. But she was right: the subject had become unavoidable. Even for Commander Hitch, that sardonic officer who, so long ago, had challenged Miss Laurie for bringing a droid into the recreation area,

"He passed about an hour ago." Threepio shuddered as he recalled his raging against the effects of the illness. He had scorned Miss Laurie's offer to contact his relatives, for he had none. When she thanked him for his, albeit unintended, flatteries at the officers' banquet, in hopes of teasing a smile out of him, he had merely glared. When other crewmen had tried to keep him company, he snarled at them. Threepio seemed to take the brunt of his abuse, when he tried to help quiet the man. Eventually, though, the roaring profanity dwindled to a whisper, as it was replaced by childish babbling. "Toward the end, the illness must have affected his mind. He was mumbling nonsense to himself."

The woman looked uneasily at her cup. "Did he say _anything_ coherent?"

"In a way, it _was_ coherent. He had been repeating some nursery doggerel when he announced, "Psalms! I want psalms!'"

Miss Laurie stared. "Are we talking about the same Commander Hitch?"

Threepio shrugged helplessly, "At first I thought he had said 'songs.' I was about to call you – if I may say so, you are a far better singer than I – when he sighed, 'Tell me about the little lambs.'" He glanced at the incredulous woman. "Then it dawned on me what he meant."

The request itself was not unusual. Many – most, in fact – of the crew had turned their thoughts to spiritual matters as their symptoms grew worse. Several crewmen, whom Threepio recognized as regular participants in the religious discussions Miss Laurie used to attend, had taken it on themselves to encourage and reassure their fellows. Because of his perfect recall of the texts of their faith, they called on the droid regularly for assistance. But even they had been rebuffed by the embittered officer.

Miss Laurie watched Threepio closely. "Then what?"

"I recited some. He listened, and mumbled, and shook his head, and listened some more, When I got to the part about green pastures and still waters3, he just smiled and said, 'Tell that story again.'" The prattling voice, so unlike his customary gruff bark, had unnerved the droid.

"Hitch said _that_?" The distress on her face was probably for Commander Hitch and his ordeal, but Threepio suspected part of it might be for her own approaching end. "Then what did you do?"

"I repeated it. When I got to 'And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever,' he looked at the ceiling, and called, 'Daddy. Daddy. Take me home.' Then he smiled, and . . . and that was that." He decided Miss Laurie did not need to hear about moving the body to the makeshift morgue: the training rooms, where the atmosphere had been shut off. The inhabited levels needed the air. Besides, the lack of oxygen would prevent any possible post mortem combustion. Threepio had become essential for delivering the remains to the biers that the tables had become. As some grim wag had remarked, trainees had been sleeping at those tables for years. But never like this. And never Commander Hitch. Until now.

Miss Laurie still looked thoughtful. Her fingers traced circles on the tabletop. "I wonder why. Why did he get childish? And what did he mean? Had he been trusting all along? Or did he start then?" She looked up. "That's odd."

"What is?"

"A verse just shot through my head. 'Knowledge puffeth up, but love edifies.'4 I don't know why I would think of that. – yes I do!" She slouched in her chair, arms crossed. "How often does pride get in the way of trust? It seems like intellect and pride do go together. Sometimes, they get so intertwined that the only way God can take away that pride that keeps someone from trusting is to take away the intellect wrapped around it. I wonder…"

"If that was the case with Commander Hitch?"

She nodded. "He always struck me as the most arrogant piece of work I'd ever seen. But I never knew anything about –" she groped for words "– where he came from. Maybe he knew God all along, but was too proud to trust Him." She cocked her head. "You can never write anyone off, I guess." She took another long sip of tea. Involuntarily, her face contorted as she swallowed. Threepio watched her sympathetically.

The woman closed her eyes. "Poor Hitch. He sure missed out on a lot in those years of vanity and pride. Well –" and she sighed again "–I guess when you're dying is when you find out what you really believe." Then a faraway look gathered in her eyes.

"Funny. A man as big – as seemingly important, I mean – as Hitch, and he didn't really leave much of anything behind. He didn't have any family, he didn't write any books or essays, or memoirs. He just gathered a lot of prestige, and pensions he'll never collect. For all his work, he didn't have much to show for it." As she spoke, Threepio's own thoughts began to wander.

How do humans assess the value of a life? By its influence? And how is influence measured? By the accumulation of goods or honors? He found himself thinking of that meandering discussion of life that he and Miss Laurie had carried on, there on the dark streets of Kennet City. Of one thing he was certain, after his experiences with the childlike Commander: maybe Miss Laurie had been right about one aspect of life: it might be surrendered, but it wasn't given up easily.

He watched the woman drain her cup, then asked, "How are_ you_ feeling, Miss Laurie?"

She took a deep breath. There was a ragged edge to it. "I guess I feel all right, all considered." A pensive look had settled on her face.

He knew what troubled her: that unspoken subject. Anticipating her thoughts, he commented softly, "Those must be the most dreadful words an organic could ever hear."

She looked up, "You mean, 'You're dying'? It's pretty bad, but – not to contradict you – they're not the worst. The worst are 'I don't know you.'" Threepio recoiled visibly at the pronouncement…and at the memory. Miss Laurie looked up in surprise, then smiled. "So you know I'm right?" _Did she know what had transpired between himself and Master Luke?_ Her head bowed. "I could have curled up and died right there when you walked past me like you didn't know me."

It took Threepio a moment to figure out what she was referring to. "You were at the sallyport?"

"You looked right at me, then got on the transport." She gave an embarrassed chuckle. "I cried for a week."

Threepio was moved, but did feel vaguely ashamed. After their hostile parting, he would have expected her to have little reason to see him off. Yet, even then, she had cared enough to wish him well. How could he have been so mistaken! And he would have gone off with Master Luke without a word! Still, he couldn't resist asking, "Are you sure it was I?"

The woman shrugged, "They called your operating number. Who else could you be?"  
>Well…maybe he would tell her. Later.<p>

But then she shook her head. "That wasn't what I was thinking about, though. I had been thinking of all my stuff." Fate may have haunted her face, but thoughtful curiosity still gleamed in her eyes. "This may sound odd, but the dying doesn't bother me as much as seeing my treasures lost."

With great care, Threepio suggested, "But you knew, someday, you would have to leave them. After all, you …you never could take them with you , you know."

"'Leave them' is what I always expected to do; but to leave them _to_ someone. Someone who would appreciate them. That was how _I_ came by them: people had entrusted their own treasures to me. But there never _was_ anybody to leave them _to_. Now it's too late even to look. All that loveliness will be lost. And I feel like I'm letting them down." Her fingers drummed the silver table. The silence magnified the cadence. Presently, she spoke. "Yet, what made them beautiful was their reflection of The Eternal Loveliness. What I've collected are merely tokens. What they symbolized cannot be destroyed. Their future always was _His_ call" She gave a rasping sigh. "But who will recognize future tokens without someone to point them out?" She rested her elbows on the table and held her forehead. "I see a great storm of barbarism sweeping across the worlds, as the order the Empire maintained collapses… and too few lilacs surviving in the coming wilderness."

Suddenly, her eyes flashed open, and they turned toward Threepio. "We need to get you off this ship."

He sat, stunned, for a moment. With the woman's words, an obvious, numbing reality about his presence on the stricken cruiser had just occurred to him, Why had he not realized it before? Tending the ill had distracted him, perhaps, but the conclusion was as inescapable –_ as inescapable as the ship_. Master Luke's "'I don't know you" _had_ been harder to bear, but not my much. Now, all he could do was stare at the woman.

There was urgency in her voice. "You are the only person I know who understood what I was trying to protect, and why I was trying to protect it – because you already knew it all! All the music, and literature, and art. You _will_ be the Last of the Irish Rover. And only you can deliver its most valuable cargo." She wrung her hands, as she looked around the empty room. "There's got to be a way to get you out of here. You yourself are everything I've tried to save."

"But I'm not – "

"Yes, you are! I'm not talking about just information alone – a good encyclopedia would have that – I'm talking about _you_! Ever since you came back, you've been reminding everyone how civilized – how kind and compassionate – people behave toward each other." She seemed to shrink into her chair, "You don't know what it was like around here before you turned up." She hesitated, then added quietly, "The Rebellion – The _Alliance_ –" she corrected herself pointedly "– The Alliance will need you."

As Threepio sought for a truthful way to answer this reasoning, Miss Laurie added, "When your former master showed up, I should have send you with him. I wish I'd thought to tell him that!"

"You saw him, then?" Threepio murmured in surprise.

"Sure." She smiled sadly. "I wanted to see what I was paying for. To tell you the truth, though, I was disappointed."

"Disappointed?"

"After the glowing picture you had painted of him, I thought he'd be …well, warmer. His eyes frightened me."

"Why?" _So she had noticed it too!_

"It was as if there was nothing behind them. They were so distant and disinterested. Expressionless! That's the word I'm looking for." She shivered. "There's something, well, _wrong_ going on there." Then her gaze returned to the droid, and she sat upright. "But that's my point: They need you, to remind them of what they've lost. They need your help, so your princess won't make a spectacle of herself – and your former master can care again."

She had spoken quickly, and Threepio tried to process all she had tried to convey. Impulsively, she caught his hand, clasping it between both of hers.

"But your job – your purpose – your _destiny_ – is bigger than that! You know what's worth remembering. We've got to think of something! You're too important to go up in smoke!" She gasped for breath. Threepio took advantage of her pause.

"Miss Laurie – look at me – Laurie, you're very kind, but you've always made too much of my importance. I admit I often think better of myself than I deserve, but I'm still nothing more than a third-rate translator unit. Understand me: I'm nothing special. I never was." Gently, he disengaged his hand from hers.

The woman answered slowly, "I think it's because you aren't anything special that you _are_ so special." Her voice was low, and her expression could only be described as nostalgic. She looked at her folded hands, now resting on the table, but Threepio felt as if her eyes were focused on him. "I've been thinking about the things I tried to protect – all those stories and poems and pictures and melodies. None of them are considered really great works of art. But a lot of times, common people don't understand great art. They are scared of it, because they think it's too far above them; so they ignore it completely. My books and all were made for ordinary people. They were common enough, approachable enough, that people could enjoy them. The things I tried to save show what great ideas look like in ordinary settings." She glanced in his direction. "Maybe you _are_ far from perfect, but you value those great ideas - Kindness, Justice, Mercy, Courage, Loyalty – the qualities of rightness. You are what rightness looks like when ordinary people do it. And common, everyday rightness isn't so common any more." Her eyes then turned to him as she straightened with resolve. "When we find a way for you to escape, will you do it?"

Threepio looked at her for a long moment before answering. "I'll think about it."

By now, she held his hand again. "That answer isn't good enough. From you, that means 'No.' Tell me: will you do it!"

A comlink buzzed. Miss Laurie blinked at the screen.

But Threepio needed no directions. Another crewman was breathing his last. "Tell them I'm on my way."

He had already risen, and was heading to the door as she called after him, "Barracks B needs you."

But as the door slid shut, he heard Miss Laurie murmur to herself, "The whole benighted galaxy needs you."

* * *

><p>Notes:<p>

1In a Viking funeral, the deceased, with a dog at his feet, is cremated by his burning ship.

2_The Irish Rover_ [song]

3Psalm 23.

4I Corinthians 8:1


	20. Chapter 20

XX – The Sea

It is the sea, it is the sea, In all its vague immensity.  
><em> The Golden Legend<em>

Cyrano: Tonight, I am going to let you pray for me.  
>Sister Martha; I did not wait for you to say I might.<br>_ Cyrano de Bergerac_

* * *

><p>With each day, the numbers in the barracks and sick bay shrank. Threeipo watched with despairing resignation as the infirmary emptied, and the training rooms filled. Miss Laurie helped as best she could, but the spring had left her step, and her spells of exhaustion had grown longer.<p>

Finally, the spells won. She had told him she was going to the library to put another stack of research reports on the scanner, and to finish up a couple of. . . of farewell notes. He had been occupied with the remaining handful of invalids, and did not notice her delay.

As he made his way from the elevator bank to the sick bay – for now there were only four – he heard a staccato of beeps coming from somewhere in the corridor. As he came closer to the library, he knew what they meant.

He found her, slumped on the keyboard. The incoherent string of characters had overwhelmed the processor, thus the alarm. The droid pulled her back into her chair, where she hung, limp as one of her rag dolls. Quickly, he felt her neck for a pulse. Yes, abnormally rapid, but present. Her skin felt hot and dry.

"Miss Laurie? Miss Laurie!" Her brow twitched, and she slowly opened her eyes. It took her a moment to focus them.

"Oh …Ferguson. I'm sorry. I didn't hear you come in." She looked around, vaguely. "Did the scanner run out?"

"Never mind the scanner. How do you feel?"

The woman winced as she took a deep breath. "All right, I guess, on the whole. Awfully tired." She seemed to recollect what she had been doing. "I was typing those notes. . " Then she sighed again. "I'm awfully tired."

"I think you need to lie down for a while." She looked up at him, and he regretted the suggestion. He could see she was wondering if she would get up again. He had wondered the same thing. "Can you stand?"

She gripped the arms of her swivel chair, as Threepio steadied the back. She pushed herself to her feet, wavered a little, then smiled.

"I feel much better now. Thanks." She sighed again: a normal sigh this time. "While I'm up, I might as well refill the scanner." She took a few steps toward it, then collapsed to the ground.

"Miss Laurie!" He was beside her in a moment. He could hear her gasping, but she did not respond. "Laurie! Laurie! Give me your hand!" He knew she could hear him. She shook her head. "Stop that! Give me your hand!…Laurie! _ Laurie, Get Up!" he _finally shouted. "I won't let you die on the floor!"

Her eyes opened wide, and one hand shot out from her tangle of limbs, then another. Threepio caught them, dragging the woman to her feet. With one arm at her waist, and the other supporting her shoulders, he escorted her from the darkened room.

By now, the emergency lights in the corridors were beginning to dim. Their greenish-blue glow was efficient, but not comforting. The black and gray pair seemed to merge with the shadow they cast on the dull silver wall, until the darkness of the officers' quarters swallowed them all.

The droid let the woman down gently on the edge of her bunk. By now, she was able to sit upright unsupported. "You've been very busy, and very helpful. Now it's your turn to get some rest," he heard himself say.

Miss Laurie smiled ironically. "I know better than to argue with you." She had left the lamp over the bunk illuminated. It, too, was starting to flicker. As she kicked off her pumps, she pulled from an alcove a lamp of luminous diodes, and activated it. Its light was bright, but cold. "I'll come down to the infirmary…"

"I will come back and check on you," Threepio assured her. "For now, you just rest."

"Aye, aye, sir." She leaned back on the tumble of bedclothes. He started to leave, then turned back.

"Er, Miss Laurie…I'm sorry I yelled at you."

From the midst of the pile, he heard her laugh. "If you hadn't, I'd still be lying there. Thank you."

He didn't bother to close the door. Since the beginning of the epidemic, that token gesture of companionship had been common among the survivors. Even the most reserved officers had been drawn to associate with comrades they would ordinarily have ignored. But there were few comrades left now.

The ship had grown so still that Threepio could hear the sound of his joints. With the reactors offline, the backup batteries powering the ship's remaining functions had not been charged. Now they were nearly empty. Even the life support system had begun to show signs of failing. The air was musty, still humid with the breath of departed shipmates. Many of the heating units no longer functioned. Already, the absolute zero surrounding the cruiser was creeping through the hull. If the temperature dropped too far, what would the remaining crew do?

He caught himself. That _was_ a foolish question! They would do precisely what they were doing now. But then what? And what of himself? No, there was no time to waste on such speculation. The crew still needed his help. But was there nothing he could do, or could have done differently, that could have saved these poor creatures? He was at a loss. And, one by one, they had been lost. To the ship, to those who cared about them, to the future itself! He turned from the hallway into the sick bay. This was no time to dwell on morbid regrets! There were four to care for…

Oh, no!

The hallway was cooler, and the shadows deeper, as the droid made his way back to the officers' quarters. The failing battery power was obvious now. Before long, the ship would be left in darkness And then nothing would be left.

That thought stopped him. It was not a new thought. Ever since the eventual fate of the _Vigilant_ had been announced, it had been an undertone of every conversation. Eventually, the tone had overwhelmed all conversation. Just as the sun of Threnet and Kennet would soon overwhelm the _Vigilant_, Then, truly, there _would_ be nothing left.

He had reached the spot where the main corridor met the passage to the officers' quarters, Threepio leaned against the wall, and gazed into the shadows. Until now, there had been so many urgent duties that he had purposely avoided all but the shallowest musings: those that would not lead to brooding. Now, there was time – and his brooding conclusions horrified him. Should he tell Miss Laurie about the sick bay? What _ could_ he tell her? He glanced down the hall. Only the faintest of gleams shone through the open door. If he did tell her, what would she do? But…what if she wasn't there to tell! He hurried into the darkness, toward the light.

"Mis Laurie!" The room was empty. Across the imperfectly-made bed lay her skirt, tunic, and frilly blouse, carefully folded. "Laurie!"

"I'm here," answered a faint voice. Of course! Where else _would_ she be. He could see the bluish light of her diode lamp in the chamber beyond. The wardrobe had been pushed to one side. He had helped her move it earlier. The drape of lace and medical records had been tied back. As he looked in, he could see that the lamp now sat on the low table in the salon, next to a recording player and a volume of Aunt Dollie stories. The room was a ghost of its serene, welcoming self. The cold radiance illuminated the baubles and trinkets it reached, without lighting them. The rest were hidden in the sharpened shadows lurking in the corners. Miss Laurie lay against a pile of pillows, as she had done so often before, under her familiar lacy throw, on the sofa beneath the book case. Above her, on one of the shelves, stood her doll family. The harsh light only drew attention to their defects, yet they still smiled with hopeful earnestness. The droid stepped around the table and stood facing her.

Miss Laurie's eyes were closed, but she mush have heard him stop. Anticipating his question, yet without opening her eyes, she explained, "This just seemed like the place where I belonged."

"I'm surprised you changed out of your uniform."

The woman pulled back the afghan to reveal a plain white robe. "You once told me, 'When in doubt, wear your uniform.' I wasn't in doubt, so I thought I'd wear this." Threepio drew back in alarm. It was only a plain white nightgown, but inthis setting, in looked like…

He had seen many grim sights, but none had shocked him as much as seeing Miss Laurie in graveclothes! He pulled up the hassock and sat down next to her.

"Oh, now. You aren't _that_ badly off, are you?"

She sighed deeply. "Who am I trying to kid?" The light of the diode lamp etched deeper lines in her face. Threepio brought the hassock closer.

"Is there anything I can do for you ? Anything at all?" He thought for a moment. "Some tea, perhaps?"

"I doubt I could hold the cup." She smiled regretfully, then recalled, "But what about the others? Hadn't you better get back to them?" As a reassuring afterhtought, she added, "I'll be all right for now."

"Right now, you're my principal concern. You rest and gather your strength."

Her head tilted against the pillows. Suddenly, her eyes opened. "I'm the last one, aren't I?"

"Well …yes." Threepio dreaded the prospect of describing to her the scene he had found in the infirmary. One had evidently died of his illness. The strain of waiting had grown too great for one of the others. He must have secreted the blaster near his bed sometime earlier– for Threepio had been careful to keep all firearms out of the sick bay – and, when he decided to use it, the other two must have tried to stop him. Oddly enough, the one never used the blaster. Perhaps he hadn't the strength to pull the trigger. The exertion from the struggle had been too much for the three of them. Well. well. That was that.

Instead of moving the bodies, Threepio had restored them to their beds, covered them respectfully, and, as he left the section, sealed the hatch. He had then shut off the atmosphere, thus evacuated the chamber. Now, only the officers' quarters and its attachments maintained life support. The resources were so depleted, though, that the remaining air was just as stagnant as ever.

But Miss Laurie didn't ask about the sick bay. "What about Jon?" was her question. Major Jon! The droid had almost forgotten about him. Throughout the final stages of the quarantine, he had maintained a presence in the radio room, relaying status reports, trying to call in favors among his multitude of contacts, in hopes of convincing some official to take an interest in the unfortunate crew. The twin illnesses had not affected him as severely as they had the others; in fact, he showed signs of a genuine recovery. But, nonetheless, the droid had found him the day before, still hunched over the communications desk.

Threepio's silence had been sufficient answer for the woman. But not sufficient explanation. "Did he kill himself?" She asked in a low voice.

"I saw no marks of violence. Really, I don't know _why_ he died."

Miss Laurie closed her eyes. "He told me once that his greatest terror was of being alone. I wonder if he might have died of fear." Then she smiled sadly. "Though with you here, he would hardly have been alone."

"I've noticed that fear can often cause humans to forget the obvious."

"I guess that makes you the ranking officer of the ship, Captain Ferguson." But the playfulness was short-lived. Tears glinted in her eyes. "Poor Jon," She whispered. "Poor everybody!" Then she turned her head in the droid's direction. "And poor Ferguson! I'm so terribly sorry you have to go through this. You deserve so much better."

"I must confess there isn't anyone I would wish this on. Certainly not you – any of you," he murmured. Miss Laurie did not answer. From her breathing – regular, but shallow, he concluded she had dropped off to sleep. Cautiously, he readjusted the diode lamp, directing its beam into the room, rather than across the woman's face. That lively, cheerful face, now so thin, so drawn. He recalled how she had looked the first time he met her. He would scarecely have recognized her now, except for her manner. Even on the brink of despair, she had still found things to smile about. Presently, she stirred.

"Miss Laurie?" He called softly.

"I'm here." Her once-crisp diction had wilted with weakness. "Is that you, Ferguson?"

"Yes. Try and sleep some more." He moved the hassock closer to the head of the sofa.

"I can't see you, Ferguson."

"I'm here." He had hoped to be encouraging, but in the harsh twilight, his voice sounded strained and anxious.

"You're right there ," Miss Laurie whispered. The tips of her fingers brushed his chest plate. "I know when you are; I just can't see you."

He thought, "She doesn't realize her eyes are closed." As her hand fell, he caught it in his own. She did not withdraw it. "When she loses her faculties, whatever shall I do?"

"Besides," she continued, with clearer diction, "I have my eyes shut."

The sheer absurdity of the remark was strangely comforting. Whatever else she may be losing, it wasn't her sense of humor.

Perhaps it was her whimsey that spurred him to speak. "Miss Laurie, could I ask you something?" Her eyes, bleary, but alert, turned to him. "What …what does it feel like?"

She frowned slightly. "What does what feel like?"

"Well… dying." He would never have broached such a topic under normal conditions, even with her, though they had casually discussed every other aspect of human and android life. Was it for want of conversation? No, it was conceding to the inevitable. But the question did not appear to disturb her.

"A lot depends on the means of death, I suppose, but this doesn't feel too bad." She settled herself and assessed her condition. "It feels as if my energy is just evaporating away, and before long, it'll all be gone. I feel hot, but the air around me is cold, so it isn't uncomfortable." She sighed and seemed to sink deeper into the cushions.

"Are you afraid?"

"No, not really." Then, with a chuckle, she admitted, " Well, yes."

"But you're smiling!"

"You may laugh" – an absurd suggestion, for he never laughed – "But I feel the same way I did when you were talking me into going to Kennet. I have great assurance that everything will be just fine, and I'm silly to worry. It's just that I've never been there before."

And she had no previous visitors to ask, either. The droid remembered how she had looked in those happier days, only a few months earlier, as she strode through the corridor to the sallyport. Aloud, he said softly, "I can't go with you this time."

When she was going to Kennet, the prospect had pleased her. Now, it had the opposite effect. She stiffened against the pillows, almost sitting upright. "It's terribly important that you don't!" She looked at him earnestly, "God doesn't do thing haphazardly, and there's a plan – even in this. I don't know what it is, but the fact that you're going to survive this nightmare shows that you still have a big part to play in it!" Then she relaxed, smiling hopefully. "I'm nervous, yes, but I trust the reports, and know it'll be all right. We can trust Him." She flashed him a grin. "Courage, Ferguson."

So like Miss Laurie. He had tried to comfort her, and she ended up bolstering him. But her expression gradually relaxed into wistful reflection.

Eventually, she recalled, "My father used to say that Grandma heard music before she died."

"Do you think you might?"

"I don't' know. I kind of hoped I'd have enough faith not to need that kind of assurance. But I'll take whatever He sends. We have to trust _Him_, and His promises, not the trappings."

They sat in silence – _in_ the silence. The familiarity of the surroundings served to muffle that deafening stillness. But it was just a soothing ointment on a mortal wound. Threepio racked his memory for a cheering word to say. Then, he remembered something: a courtesy he had long neglected.

"Miss Laurie?" The woman squinted in the darkness, seeking the gentle glow of his photosenors. "I hardly know what to say …it must have seemed terribly ungrateful of me," he began, "But, after all this time, I don't believe I ever thanked you for saving me from the interrogators. Thank you."

To his surprise, the woman's face fell. She swallowed a sob before answering. "You have no idea how many times I regretted it." The droid stiffened, bewildered. "Oh, my poor Ferguson! What did I make you do! Having to pretend to be someone you're not! All the places you had to go: hoping you might see a friend; and dreading that you would! I'm so sorry…So terribly sorry." She turned her face toward the wall.

"Well…never mind that now." Threepio said soothingly. Yes, it _had_ been hard, but her own consideration had helped make it bearable. He held her hand a little tighter.

Then her head turned. "I just realized something myself. I never thanked _you_ for saving _my_ life."

Threepio was at a loss. "When did I do that?"

"On the way back from the Gardens of the Desert." _The Gardens of the Desert_? Should he tell her?

"Er, Miss Laurie…there's something you ought to know about that encounter. I, er, I didn't take that road by mistake."

"I know."

"You know?" He nearly dropped her hand. "You were asleep! How could you have known?"

"You told me." As he started to protest, she explained, "When I asked why they were chasing us, you said it was because I was an Imperial officer. If they had been real bandits, that would have been the very reason _not_ to chase us." So _that_ was what she had meant when she referred to the Rebellion as tramps and bandits!

He shook his head slowly. "So you knew all along. Yet you never said anything, or even flinched. Why?"

"I knew you were doing what you could to get away from the ambush. If you succeeded, great. If not – well," She shrugged, "God's will be done. It just wasn't part of the plan." Her eyes had dropped as she spoke, but then they focused on him. "But now you can go back to them honestly. Maybe that's why you failed then. This time, you've proved you're no traitor – to anyone." Earnestly, she said, "Listen: you once asked what you had left to give that wasn't already mine. You _did_ have something. You had your loyalty. That would have been worth having." She beamed at him proudly. "You've kept faith, and never cracked." Threepio just looked down at the limp hand in his. What words were there to express what he was thinking? And what language could contain them?

Finally, he said quietly, "I could never have done it, if you hadn't helped me." The shadows in the corners of the salon moved closer, as a few of the diodes glowed gray, as they did before going out. The droid was lost in thought for so long a time that eventually Miss Laurie asked what he was thinking.

"I can't imagine why it would come to mind now, but I was thinking of that old cracked pillar. It was as if you were the vine that kept me from going to pieces. Isn't that odd?"

The woman coughed a little as she rasped a chuckle. "It's very odd! _I_ was just thinking how _you_ were the pillar that kept my weedy self from dragging in the mud!" Her head rolled back, and she stared toward the ceiling. "How many things have I done because Ferguson would like them? How many things _haven't_ I done because Mr. Ferguson wouldn't approve." She smiled at him: that same crooked, affectionate smile that even the pallor of her face couldn't chill. "I couldn't have done it without you, either." Then her eyes drifted back to the darkness above them. "I don't know how you got here, but I'm so happy that you _are_ here." Her eyes closed. "It would be awful to have to do this alone."

Threepio felt her grip tighten Was it…? No, now yet. But there was urgency in her voice when she said, " But I _could_ do it alone, if I knew you were safely on your way home. They need you."

The scene in the hangar, and the confrontation behind the bookstore flashed before him. "What makes you so sure they'll want me back?" he wondered pointedly.

"After what you've endured for their sake? They'll be delighted to see you."

"They already have one of me, you know. Besides, " he added with affected carelessness, "What would you do all by yourself?"

"Same thing I've _been_ doing: praying for you." The answer startled him, but did not surprise him.

"For me?"

"For all of you; but you especially."

There had been a time when Threepio would have been irritated that someone would assume he needed any intercession. But that was long ago. Now he felt humbled. Still, he asked indulgently, "Now when did this start?"

By the gleam of the diode lamp, it was hard to be sure, but the woman appeared to blush. "About the time you informed me you were neither designed nor equipped for _that_ kind of entertainment!" She coughed, and closed her eyes. "Since Kennet, I've been praying He'd send you home. I've also been praying for your friends since Jon – or whoever that was – told me to." Then she frowned slightly. "I'm sorry to admit I didn't think of praying for your replacement until after you got a look at him. If I had been smart, I'd have started as soon as he was shipped out."

In matters of faith, Threepio had come to trust her impulses, even if he wondered about her orthodoxy. But her concern for that imposter was perplexing. "Why would you pray for him?" She managed a feeble, but indignant scowl. "I mean, for what did you pray for him?"

"That he'd be someone you weren't ashamed of." Her expression did not change, but her voice was sympathetic. "I know his conduct hurt you, more than anything else about him. And that's another reason you need to go back: he's going to need you to help him."

By now, Threepio's initial defensiveness had changed to remorse. "Do you really think I'd have much influence?"

"Of course you would! They all need you. From what you've said, and from what I've seen, they've forgotten how to be the lovely people you remember." A cough interrupted her speech, but not her thought. "They've been so busy fighting, I guess, that they've forgotten what they're fighting for. You remember what they've forgotten. Truth, justice, mercy, compassion… without them, freedom isn't liberty, it's anarchy."

"And you think I can perform this wonder?"

"No, I don't." Then she smiled at his confusion. "But it can be done _through_ you, because of one more thing: you also know the Maker. _They_ need to know the Maker. Unless He renews the wonder of rightness, truth is nothing but facts, justice stifles mercy, and compassion _has_ no passion."

She lay back, trying to catch her breath. "It will take courage, but you're the bravest man I know."

In her string of astounding observations, this was the crowning paradox. "Now why would you call me that?" A pained look crossed her face, as she gathered her strength to reply. Even so, her voice grew weaker as she spoke.

"You know, there is more than one kind of courage. There's the kind that strikes the blow for the sake of rightness. And, there's the kind that _takes_ the blow. often to shield someone else." Her lip trembled, as she whispered, "I can't think of anyone who has been more battered than you." She panted hoarsely for a moment. "This world needs more brave men."

The droid bowed his head. In a low voice, he repeated, "Now why would you call me that?"

He had doubted she had heard him, but, when he looked up, her eyes were fixed on his faceplate. "Because you care." She spoke as if the answer were self-evident. "The mechanicals didn't care when they left the ship. The Ministries still don't care. Our inanimate cousins" – and she waved toward the dolls above them – "They can't care. But you do. You always have. You're in that casing because you cared what happened to your own people. You've been caring for us ever since you came back." Her expression was tired, but intent. "Synthetic isn't imitation. You're what a man is supposed to be – because you care."

Again, Threepio was at a loss for words. The hand in his began to relax. Unconsciously, he tightened his grip. The cold fingers responded. The woman coughed again. She lay still, but the droid knew she was listening.

Finally, he managed, "If it were possible, you'd persuade me to go back."

The woman must have heard the resignation in his voice, "But it isn't impossible!" she exclaimed, with unexpected energy. "Didn't I tell you? I don't know why I didn't think of this before! There _is_ a way!" She took a deep breath. "When the mutineers tried to escape, I only heard eighteen blasts. A cruiser of this class has twenty pods! There are still two left!" When Threepio made no answer, she urged, "All you'd have to do is direct one toward Kennet and wait. It you shut off the life support, you wouldn't be contagious. And with things in such an uproar on Kennet, who's going to notice one escape pod in the mountains?" Her hand tightened around his. "I'd rest easier if I knew you were on your way. Will you do it?

Gently, he replied, "No, Laurie." As she raised her head to argue, he added, "A fine captain I would be if I abandoned ship without my crew!"

The woman laughed in spite of herself, but whether through weakness or something else, it sounded more like a sob. Finally, she gasped, "Bless you!" But she had not given up. A moment later, she asked, "Then, will you do it after I'm dead? Captain or not, you can't go down with the ship!" She said earnestly, "Promise me you'll do it!" When he hesitated, she repeated, "Promise me!"

Slowly, Threepio answered, "I promise I'll use any remaining escape pod." The woman sank back in the cushions. Neither spoke for some time. Miss Laurie's breathing grew more shallow.

"Ferguson?" She called weakly.

"I'm here."

The woman appeared genuinely troubled this time. "There's one more thing. I'm sorry I called your princess a tramp."

Threepio leaned close to her, and whispered, "I'm proud to know you …kiddo."

The little lamp still cast its soulless blue light into the salon. It shone across the woman's troubled face. Its light had waned with the woman's strength. She lay still, except for the slight rise and fall of her chest. Threepio watched her, and the trinkets, and the dolls…and remembered. The silence was almost more than he could bear.

Finally, the woman whispered, "Ferguson?"

"I'm here," he answered with a choked whisper, The deep stillness stifled any louder speech. He squeezed her hand.

'You once said you would like to hear the rest of _The Golden Legend_." She no longer opened her eyes. "Would you like to hear it now?"

He knew what the question really meant, and thought of Commander Hitch. Aloud, he said, "There's no power."

"The player has batteries. Let's hear it now." She gestured feebly toward the table. Threepio then remembered the player, sitting within easy reach. Without releasing her hand, he pressed the 'play' button. A moment later, music was defying the silence.

The performance was indifferent, and the oratorio's story was old and familiar. A prince of the realm had a grave illness. The cure required the life of a young woman. One of his fairest subjects volunteered. Threepio took little interest in the melodrama: his attention was for Miss Laurie.

She was listening, but drifted in and out of consciousness. She breathed deeply now, but the breaths came farther apart. He could feel her pulse slow as the choir sang. The illness had won.

And there was no way to stop it. It was all so terribly wrong. That vivacious, scatterbrained sage he had scolded so many times. That sentimental guardian of virtue and cosiness. That wry wit who had quietly defied peremptory authority and rescued wayward princesses. Was there nothing he could do to restore that receding life? No. There wasn't even anyone left to remember her. She had no family; no friends beyond the ship. She would pass, forgotten as a dream, as her shopmates had. As organics do. He watched as the diode lamp dimmed, and the woman's expression grew more blank.

The tone of the music changed. Threepio recognized it as the opening bars of the familiar funeral music. In the darkness, the despair was almost paralyzing.

Threepio had known the words of the original poem, but had not understood their significance for this grim time. A man's voice sang,

_It is the sea, it is the sea,  
>In all its vague immensity,<br>Fading and darkening in the distance.  
>Silent, majestical, and slow, , ,<br>_  
>He scanned Miss Laurie' motionless face. He felt as if he was watching her drift away, to sink, and be lost in that vast black nothing of death. He found himself pulling on her hand, as if to hold her to life, to drag her back from oblivion.<p>

_The white ships haunt to and fro,  
>With all their ghostly sails unfurled,As phantoms from another world,<br>Haunt the dim confines of existence.  
>It is the sea, in all its vague immensity.<br>_  
>"Come back," he murmured. "Please, come back."<p>

But greater currents carried her toward that vague immensity. The song ended, and her head slipped to one side.

_No!_ By now, both of his hands were wrapped around hers. Unconsciously, he puller her hand toward him.

As he did, the sparkling strains of The Song began. Long ago, Miss Laurie had told him that it needed a clear, pure voice to do it justice. The voice of the singer split the dark silence with a gleaming shaft of sound. The woman opened her eyes.

_The night is calm and cloudless,And still as still can be,  
>The stars come forth to listen<br>To the music of the sea;  
><em>  
>Softly, she whispered the words with the singer.<p>

_In snow-white robes uprising  
>The ghostly choirs respond,<br>And sadly and unceasing  
>he mournful voice sings on,<br>And the snow-white choirs still answer,  
>Christe eleison! Christe eleison! Christe eleison!<br>_  
>The choir repeated the verse. For a moment, the eager interest returned to the woman's face. She reached up and grasped Threepio's hands, pulling herself upright. He could feel her continuing to pull, as if she were trying to take him with her. Her gaze was fixed on something beyond him, beyond the darkness, beyond time. The weakness seemed to leave her as she sang.<p>

_In snow-white robes uprising  
>The ghostly choirs respond,<br>And sadly and unceasing  
>The mournful voice sings on,<em>

Her eyes closed, as she clutched his hands to her heart.

_And the snow-white choirs still answer,  
>Christe eleison! Christe eleison! Christe eleison!<br>_  
>"And on Ferguson!" she gasped, "Take care of Ferguson! Oh, please, take care of Ferg…"<p>

Her voice trailed off, and, as the last notes poured through the room, she grew limp, and fell heavily against the pillows.

The music played on for a while, until its charge ran out. The woman's pulse throbbed faintly, until it, too, faded away.

And Threepio was alone on the cruiser.


	21. Chapter 21

XXI – Christe Eleison

Funny. Where you start out in life has nothing to do where you end up – or how.  
><em> Three Godfathers <em>

"Jesus, when you come into Your kingdom, remember me."  
><em> Remember me<em>

* * *

><p>The droid stepped quietly into the still, darkened library. A few emergency lights still gleamed faintly, but he needed none for his task.<p>

The stack of reports that had been placed on the scanner lay in a disheveled pile in the receiving tray, but none had jammed. One last, neat stack of paper waited on the worktable. Perhaps it was a meaningless gesture, but, out of respect to those who had compiled them, and in memory of the one who had prepared them, Threepio placed the reports on the paper feeder, and activated the scanner. The rhythmic gasp of the papers passing through the machine dulled the piercing silence of the place. He moved to the workstation.

A few farewell messages remained to be transcribed and relayed. He jostled the keyboard, to reveal the progress Miss Laurie had made before her collapse. Not that It mattered now. The voice recognition program would require him to restart the transcription, anyway. Automatically, he engaged the program, and was soon reading the letters aloud. His thought were elsewhere, so the performance did not do justice to its text. But the workstation did not care. It compiled the messages, located a current address, and unsentimentally forwarded those last heartfelt truths.

Threepio watched as the system signaled that the messages had been delivered, but he did not close the program. He watched as the impatient screen saver swept like a curtain over the display. Then, across the screen crawled that familiar bit of philosophical froth, "Life's perhaps the only riddle that we shrink from giving up." A silly quotation from a comic opera. He had never understood why the phrase had appealed to Miss Laurie, but whenever she saw it, she would smile. . .

_She would smile_. Resting his elbows on the workstation, he covered his face with his hands. He couldn't bear to look at those words any more.

His metal body was capable of long periods of extended activity without damage, But, although his efforts may have been called tireless, he was tired. Weary beyond expression. Numb from too many losses: lost friends, lost causes, lost hopes. Long ago — at the Yavin Base, in fact — he had found Princess Leia sobbing in her sleep. He had not asked her why, but, as she wept on his shoulder, he understood the reason for her grief. Today he uderstood the grief itself. The faces of the ship's officers, the instructors, the young recruits who had stayed behind, seemed to blur with those of the trainees who had passed through the library. And through the stream, Miss Laurie's laughter always rippled. "They're gone!" his memory cried out. "They're all lost!" His head slipped from his hands, and came to rest on his crossed arms. "It shouldn't end like this!"

Presently, he recovered himself. Mourning was unproductive, and there were still decisions to be made. That is, he still had to do what he knew he must. Eventually, he would shut down the library's workstation, then turn off the ship's remaining life support Breaking the transmission signal would attract the attention of the officials monitoring the ship. Those observers would then direct it into the nearest star, and. . . and that would be that. He was the commander of the vessel, and, Miss Laurie's urging notwithstanding, it gave him the prerogative of every captain of a doomed craft.

Threepio leaned back in Miss Laurie's swivel chair, and, once more, watched the motto crawl across the screen. _Life's perhaps the only riddle that we shrink from giving up_. And thought of the one who had put it there. He was ashamed he would have to disappoint her.

Maybe he should have told her about the escape pods. While prowling about for a means of escape – how long ago was it? Back in those earliest days of his captivity – he had explored the emergency level. It had been unsecured, so he had gone in. There, his suspicions about the Empire's actual weakness had been confirmed: Two of the escape pod portals had been welded shut _because they had no pods._ Laurie had heard eighteen blasts because the ship only _had_ eighteen escape pods.

Well, after all, he _had_ promised to escape in any _remaining_ pod.

No, there was no escape this time. He would stay on the ship. When the reactors were restarted, he would simply close down. There was no alterative. Even if a pod had been available, he doubted he would have used it. He had no place to go. Assuming he could have escaped the ship without carrying any of the infection – he acknowledged that much _was_ possible – the first Imperial patrol that found him would hand him over for investigation. A drone would not function so independently. And the Rebels would blast a stray Imperial unit on sight. There was no longer a place for him in either world. The _Vigilant_, and those on it, had become his world. He would not desert them now.

_Life's perhaps the only riddle that we shrink from giving up._

The ornate letters crept slowly across the monitor. It had indeed been a riddle. A cruel hoax or an indecent pun. Why should those doing good be afflicted with such pain and loss, while those doing actual evil were left untouched? These people weren't wicked or oppressive. They had been, for the most part, kindly and well-meaning. They just wanted to live their lives in peace. . . much like the jawas.

Odd he should think of them now. He had regarded them as disgusting pests at the time, but, in retrospect, they had simply been going about their own business when they had appropriated Artoo and himself. That they should have been slaughtered for it had been terribly unjust. As unjust as the hideous fate of Master Luke's unfortunate family. He had not seen the smouldering remains of their homestead, but the young man's cryptic description provided more than enough detail. Why didn't the wretches who perpetrated such outrages suffer for them?

Yet, it was the death of his family that brought the young man to the Rebellion. In a way, their death had caused the destruction of the Death Star. At the same time, they had also been responsible for a lively librarian's choice to commit her talents to an internal rebellion against Imperial tyranny. It had put her in a position to free the young man from certain execution. Because her own family had died, she had been able to pay for his liberty. Strange how it had worked out.

He thought of the course of his own days. A promising career in the diplomatic corps had been his, until that fateful misstep at the Fealty Ceremony. Then the odd jobs in the starfleet – and Artoo. It occurred to him that, if he hadn't bungled at court, he would never have met him. Even Miss Laurie had once said that that bit of carelessness had saved him from Alderaan's fate.

And, as the death of the Lars family had, that failure had helped to destroy the Death Star. He had convinced the young farmer to rescue Artoo from the Jawas. He had spirited the little droid past the investigating guards in the Death Star control room. Later, he had helped in Master Luke's own escape from the _Vigilant_. He began to think about the riddle that was Existence.

Why would anyone _shrink_ to give up this riddle, when all their days are spent trying to figure it out? He leaned back in the chair, and gazed without interest at the doorway. One of the emergency lights beyond the half-opened door flared, throwing into the library a ghostly shaft over the spot where, earlier, its librarian had fallen. Then it went out. He remembered the time Miss Laurie refused to give up a riddle. During one of their meandering discussions, he had asked her if she knew when a door wasn't a door. She puzzled over the question for over an hour. Finally, she could stand it no longer and, sullenly, had been forced to admit defeat. When he told her that a door was not a door when it was ajar, she stared in amazement for a moment, then collapsed in uproarious laughter at the silly old joke. Why had she laughed so? Partly because she did have an unfortunate fondness for puns, partly at its wonderful obviousness, and partly…well, partly at her own foolish pride that had prevented her from simply asking the answer from the one who was willing, able, and eager to explain it to her.

Threepio sat up straight. How very odd! Could it be that the Riddle of Life is given up reluctantly for the same reason? Could it be that the answer is obvious — wonderful, even —but only when the answer is explained? Might pride be keeping those who puzzle over the riddle from asking the answer? What _is_ the Riddle of Life?

It was the very thing he had he been wondering all along. Obviously, the Riddle was "Why?"

Then what was the answer? Who could tell him the answer?

Again, it was so obvious it almost frightened him. To ask "why" presupposes a plan. How can there be a plan, without a planner?

Merciful Power!

_The_ Merciful Power!

The Faithful Creator1, by Whom all thing were made, and in Whom all things hold together.

The One Who Is; who rewards those who seek Him.

Who cared enough to enter His own rebellious creation to restore it to Himself2.

Who cared enough about it to redeem it from that bondage it had chosen, because it couldn't free itself.3

The Way, the Truth, the Resurrection and the Life4!

The God who _is_5, not the god who was, the God before whom those who had gone before still stand.

"_God doesn't do thing haphazardly, and there's a plan – even in this. I don't know what it is. . ."_

_Merciful Power – forgive me – but why didn't I see it before_! There _is_ a plan. There has been one, all along! Miss Laurie understood it was there, and she trusted Him to lead her in it, even if she didn't know what the plan was. Commander Hitch was forced to give it up, and smiled! Life was a riddle they _had_ given up, and the eternal answer became a source of eternal mirth6. The droid could see the Plan was for good, even if dreadful things happen in the course of bringing it about7. Even Master Luke's rejection now lost much of its sting. If the man _had_ rescued him, why, what greater suffering would these dear people have endured, with no one at all to comfort them! Yet, if he had not tried to escape, he would never have chosen to take the decoy unit's place, and remain on the ship.

Even in his despair, there had been purpose.

As for those painful events, it wasn't the Plan, but rebellion against the Plan, at some point, that had caused them! He gripped the arms of the chair as he realized: eventually, mercy had conquered the rebellion8. Even the great enemy Death had been overcome9. Laurie wasn't lost, she was merely gone. Her part in the Plan was completed. Now she would enjoy its unfolding – just as he was now beginning to appreciate it.

Then Threepio stopped. Laurie was an organic. A mechanical was but equipment: to be used, but not regarded. He could see he had been used in the Plan, but the droid's shoulders drooped as he wondered in what capacity. The Maker had included his kind in the Plan, but was it merely as a useful tool? Or did His care extend to droids?

_Synthetic doesn't mean imitation_.

Threepio started. No, the room was still, for even the scanner had finished its work. But it was as if he had heard Miss Laurie speak those words again. What else had she said?

_You're not exactly a machine, and you're not exactly human. You are the fulfillment of what they were supposed to be. Because you're both!_

_You're what a man is supposed to be – because you care._

_The reason droids have no special promises is because they're included in the original ones._

The woman had occasionally remarked on verses unexpectedly coming to mind. Now verses began to cascade through his own memory. "Rewards those who seek10…Work together. .for those who are called11. . . _Oh but I'm only a droid! _ Who gives life to all things12 . . Who believes in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live13 . . . The just will live by "As many as received Him, to them He gave the power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on His name: which were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.;"15

"That's all very well, but I'm. . ." he murmured aloud. Then his head snapped to attention, and he echoed, ". . .Not a robot!" He was _not_ a willess appliance, but a self-determining cyborg. Wondering astonishment brought him to his feet. "Then it's true!" He whispered. "The promises are true! And they are for all who will believe them! Thank the Maker, It's all true!" He leaned against the workstation, staggered by his realization.

And the startling part was that he had known those things all along, but had never understood them. He had always hoped for them, but never trusted them.

_Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not to your own understanding. In all your ways, acknowledge Him, and He shall guide your paths._16_  
><em>  
>Clearly, He <em>had<em> guided his paths! Then, an uncertainty that was not quite a doubt chilled him. What if he was wrong? What if The Maker's redemption _was_ reserved for organic life forms? But this thought did not frighten him. He reasoned, "Has His plan become any the less perfect? No. Is He any the less worthy of supreme gratitude? No. He was still worthy. He was still good. His plan was still good. And His plan for good had still included a third-rate translator unit.

_Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him._17

_But let all those that put their trust in Thee rejoice. . . because Thou defendest them_18

_And they that know Thy name will put their trust in Thee: for thou, LORD, hast not forsaken them that seek Thee_.19

_And on Ferguson! Have mercy on Fer…_

"Yes," Threepio said aloud. "Christe eleison. Have mercy … on Ferguson!"

And, with that, he powered down the computer. For redemption or destruction, The Maker's will be done.

He sat, listening to the stillness of the room. Idly, he wondered how long it would take the officials monitoring the cruiser to restart the reactors.

The silence was so deep that he thought he could hear voices; distant, familiar, indistinct. As they grew louder, he realized that they were not dreams after all, but were real.

Someone was on the ship!

* * *

><p>Notes:<p>

1I Peter 4:19

2Galatians 4:4

3Romans 8:1-4

4John 14:6, John 11:25

5Matthew 25:34

6Chesterton, G.K. _Orthodoxy_.

7See _The Parable of the Mother, the Sons, and the Cookie Jar_.

8James 2:13

9Revelations 1:12

10Hebrews 11:6

11Romans 8:28

12I Timothy 6:13

13John 11:25-26

14Habakkuk 2:4

15John 1:11-13.

16Proverbs 3:5-6

17Job 13:15

18Psalm 5:11

19Psalm 9:10


	22. Chapter 22

XXII – The Music of the Sea

"Strange, isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he's not around, he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?"  
>Clarence Oddbody1<p>

Today, I don't need a replacement.  
>I'll tell them what the smile on my face meant.<br>My heart goin' boom, boom, boom.  
>I'll say, "You can keep my things, they've come to take me home."<br>Solsbury Hill

* * *

><p>As he looked down the hallway to the main corridor, Threepio saw the beam of a spotlight reflect off the polished walls. An astromech droid purposefully rolled past, most likely en route to a central information hub.<p>

What could the rebels possibly want on this death ship? Intelligence, no doubt. "But their own intelligence must have grown careless," Threepio thought, "Or they would have known this was only a training ship."

Staying close to the wall, he edged toward the intersection. He could hear the voices of the astromech unit's attendants approaching.

'I can't understand why my presence was necessary for a mere reconnaissance raid!"

Threepio pressed himself against the wall. The speaker was his substitute! The familiar shuffling sound was accompanied by footsteps he was sure he recognized.

"Because I don't speak astromech," Captain Solo was saying wearily. Captain Solo! What madness had brought _him_ here? His voice was muffled, so at least he had the protection of a respirator. But why risk his contamination at all?

"And I don't like it any better than you do," he heard the man add.

The pair stopped at the intersection of the two corridors. Threepio shrank closer to the wall as the searchlight played down the passage. Now he could see that the man wore an encapsulation suit. At least he was reasonably, if not perfectly, safe from the plague. The man looked back at the ambulatory gold translator following him.

"How long will it take R-5 to finish the scan?"

"Longer than I would prefer!" the droid muttered unconsciously, as he watched the drifting shadows the spotlight cast on the walls. 'This place is entirely too eerie for my tastes!" The man's impatient stance reminded the droid that he had been asked for information, not a critical analysis. "Erm – about twenty minutes, once he finds an available information port."

"That's fine." The man surveyed the main corridor, then something caught his attention. "You stay here: I want to take a look at that." He moved out of Threepio's view, in the direction of the officers' quarters.

"Hurry back!" the droid called after him. The proxy looked around at his funereal surroundings, took a tentative step after Captain Solo, then leaned despondently against the wall. Threepio stepped closer to better hear his soft grumbling.

"Why did they send _me_ on a mission like this? As if I were the only translator on base!" Threepio averted his face as the droid peered down the dark hallway. "Sending us to this floating crypt!" He looked in the direction the man had taken. "I wish I knew what he had seen. Well" – he considered his surroundings "Maybe not." He began to pace nervously. The reflection of the emergency lights on his casing scattered blue-green sparks on the walls.

"I suppose their spat had something to do with this assignment. I had no idea expectant females could be so volatile!" The droid did not elaborate, but Threepio assumed Princess Leia's temper had gotten the better of her before their departure. He moved closer to the end of the corridor. The translator continued his soliloquy.

"Master Luke flying off for who-knows-what! Captain Solo and Her Highness bickering! Chewbacca and that Lando chap! What's wrong with everyone these days?" He stood, framed by the arch of the hallway, looking down the passage. At length, he said mournfully, "I wish Artoo were here."

"I wonder how he is," Threepio said softly. The words must have resonated with the other droid's thoughts. He did not appear startled. In fact, he seemed to think he had said them himself.

"I imagine he's safe with Master Luke, but is Master Luke safe? How can he be! He takes the most dangerous missions; he refuses assistance – oh! – if anything should happen to him…" He clasped his hands and looked at the floor. "I mustn't think of such things!"

"You think a lot of him, don't you?"

"Of course I do! He's the kindest master Artoo and I have ever had. I…" He straightened as the realization seized him that another voice was speaking. He slowly turned as Threepio slid into the corridor.

"I hope I didn't startle you. I overheard you mention someone I once knew."

The droid backed away, his blank expression now one of blank horror. Speechless, all he could do was point at Threepio. But instead of feeling contempt for his conduct, Threepio found himself pitying him. He could understand what he was thinking.

In his gentlest tones, he said, "Please don't be alarmed. There's nothing here that can harm you."

The unwitting replacement found his voice, and his nerve. "How could you know Artoo? You're just a drone – and an Imperial one at that! This sounds like some kind of trap." He turned in the direction Captain Solo had taken.

"Don't call him yet; there is no trap." Threepio knew he would eventually face the man whose lethal kindness had led to this moment, but he wanted to speak privately with this second self. He said, "I'm not a drone; I'm a droid. A long time ago, I served the Alliance."

"And you didn't prefer destruction to collaboration?" The other droid asked suspiciously. Threepio restrained his growing indignation. Master Luke might ask such questions – he did not understand a droid's vulnerability– but he resented hearing it from another mechanical. But then, how many times _had_ he wished destruction had been a secure alternative? He could hardly fault his replacement for his doubts.

'I possessed some intelligence that would have been discovered had I been destroyed. The people on this ship were very kind, and helped me protect it." The gold droid did not appear completely convinced.

"I question the loyalty that claims the Alliance as friends, yet aids its enemies."

"They weren't enemies," Threepio said. The warmth of remembrance softened his words. "In some ways, they and the Alliance worked toward the same ends, only they worked from within. The Alliance, from without. And, after all, what are politics to us? Then, toward the end, they needed me." He glanced down the corridor, in the direction of the silent officers' quarters. "I guess we are most loyal to the friends who need us the most."

The other droid was still suspicious. "Why didn't you try to escape?" he demanded.

The exchange with Master Luke ripped through Threepio's memory. He merely said, "I couldn't' find an opportunity." He decided there were some things this droid did not need to know. The answer seemed to satisfy him.

"But how would you know Artoo?"

"Shall I tell him?" Threepio thought. The prospect was tempting. _"No, not yet."_ Aloud, he said, "I – I knew him when he was serving on a diplomatic cruiser." He asked again, "How is he?"  
>"As far as I know, he's fine." The other droid looked at Threepio uncertainly, but without hostility. "Isn't that a coincidence? <em>I<em> knew Artoo on a diplomatic cruiser." He thought a moment. "You weren't by any chance confiscated from the _Tantive IV_ , were you?"

"After that. It was from a base."

"Why, that's very odd: I don't recall having heard of any droids being taken from a base, except," He stepped closer to Threepio and confided, "I was captured myself once." He paused, then said, "I could easily have been in your position. I'd consider it a fate worth than death!"

Threepio was on the verge of a stinging revelation, when the droid added, "I'm very sorry for what you've had to go through." The rebuke remained unformed. He had not expected sympathy from this duplicate. If the positions had been reversed, he wondered if he would have been as generous. Maybe he _had_ been mistaken about his replacement. But Miss Laurie's prayers had been heard: this droid was not a disappointment.

"Even fates worth than death must be borne sometimes, for the sake of others, if not oneself," Threepio replied quietly. "But, I can see your masters thought a lot of you to have restored you. You must be very grateful to serve such kind ones." The other droid's head bowed with self-effacing pride, and the attitude pleased Threepio.

"They haven't had much use for my talents, though," the other droid said sadly.

"They will. As the worlds recover from the scourge of tyranny, they will need your talents, and knowledge, to restore civility." The droid peered intently at Threepio, perplexed. Soon, his gaze drifted thoughtfully to the floor. "Wait and see," Threepio added, "You're a lilac in the wilderness. And there is so much wilderness."

Suddenly, the other droid looked up, and regarded Threepio curiously.

"But – I'm confused – we had been led to believe that the mechanicals from this ship had all been reassigned. How could they possibly have left _you_ behind?' In response, Threepio gave an careless shrug. "We also thought the ship was slated for destruction."

"It is."

The blank look on the faceplate that had once been his looked even more bewildered than usual. 'Then. . what will _you_ do?"

"Go down with it."

"But you can't! You'll be destroyed!"

"I know." The gold droid tried to interrupt, but, with a wave, Threepio silenced him. "Look at it this way: I've been in the presence of the Plague so long that I might carry it to any atmosphere I'm returned to…"

The other droid cut in, "But our shuttle has no atmosphere! It was a precaution against spreading the plague . You could come with us…"

"And where would you put me?" The gold droid froze in dismay. Threepio observed , "If I assess correctly, the shuttle you would be using only has room for two, plus the astromech unit." He was almost sorry he had pointed it out, the other droid looked so distressed. Gently, he added, "Besides, if I were returned, I would only be destroyed as a compromised unit," The well-meaning replacement tried to argue, but Threepio stopped him. 'I've been functioning on borrowed time since that fateful raid. There is no other option. I am content."

The justice of his explanation was plain to the Alliance translator, but it did not content him. He stared at Threepio for a long, regretful moment. Finally, he was able to speak.

"Is there anything I can do for you? Now, or…or later?" But there was nothing to be done. Then a thought occurred to Threepio.

"There is something you can do, now. A lot has happened since I was taken." He knew he hadn't much time left, so he let curiosity direct him. "I often wondered what became of the people I once knew. Dare I ask if you could bring me up to date? Besides," he said, gesturing around the lifeless ship. "It can do no harm: there's no one left here to misuse the information."

The other droid studied him thoughtfully. Threepio sensed he was warming to him. 'It's the least I can do. I should be proud to tell you the history of my masters."

Although Threepio had not specified the people who interested him most, he guessed correctly that they would be the ones of whom his substitute would speak. But what followed was such a tale of harrowing adventure, character reversals, implausible relationships, historical fabrications, and glaring inconsistencies that Threepio hardly knew how to react.

At length, he replied, "Well, all I can say is that I'm astonished that any human as intelligent as Master Luke would take the word of an apparition, a known traitor, and an admittedly mendacious gremlin inhabiting a planet named for a tomb, without so much as a blood test. Master Luke and Princess Leia are not related. I'm surprised that as confirmed a cynic as Captain Solo hasn't challenged them."

The droid in his casing was taken aback. "Now what gives you the right to make such an assertion! It all makes perfect sense!" He went on to relate an even stranger story about Master Luke's parentage – and his own origins. Threepio could hardly understand what he was hearing. It was too unbelievable.

"Where did you learn this story? You surely aren't relating it from your own memory."

"Why, Artoo told me!" Threepio had not expected that source. How would _he_ know? And why would this droid believe the story? Suddenly, a word that had given Miss Laurie shivers when she heard it chilled his own thoughts.

_Dagoba._

"Did he tell you these things before or after he had spent time on Dagobah?"

"Why, after." the other droid replied. _My stars! Then Miss Laurie was righ_t2. What power could so taint even a droid's memory; and what unspeakable hoax was being practiced – and why? He compared General Kenobi's perpetual knowing smile with Master Luke's indifferent aloofness. How could such contrasting behavior be the result of the same instruction? Obviously, an alternate history would be intended to justify Master Luke's faith in the authority of his training, and his alleged ancestry. But, again, why? There was no time for further speculation.

As the other droid began an angry retort, he interrupted it. "Please don't be irritated, but I have some information that might help you. Your casing alone should assure you that you weren't assembled from scrap. If it had been scavenged, why is it that the only piece that doesn't match is your lower right leg? Especially when you know that Her Highness the Princess Swana chastised you there with her cane for stepping on her train during the Fealty Ceremony."  
>The droid was silenced, and thoughtful.<p>

"As for Darth Vader, General Kenobi spoke the plain truth when he said he killed Master Luke's father. During the fight, Vader himself was badly injured. The medics used most of Master Skywalker's body to restore Vader! I've seen the medical record describing the treatment myself. As I said before, Master Luke and Princess Leia are no relation." It was the other droid's turn to look astonished. "All right, if you don't believe my words, believe your own memory. You remember the public celebrations at her Highness's birth. You remember the whispers about her mother's mental state afterward. You remember watching her funeral procession from the window of the Ministry of Cultural Affairs when you were supposed to be attending a briefing on Kashyyyk society."

"I do remember. But I remember the other things, too; and all those memories are tagged as questionable. It was all restored memory, you know."

"Of course it is! I should have known," Threepio thought. Aloud, he said, "Then I don't know what to say, except it's a strange life I'm leaving, when feelings and impressions carry more authority than verified evidence." He looked sadly at the other droid. "I wish there was something I could do to help you."

But the other droid was not paying attention. He looked at the floor, and faintly echoed, "Kashyyyk." He looked at Threepio, then backed away from him, murmuring, "The only droid ever captured in a raid was…It couldn't…"

Slowly, he said, "Since the day I was restored, the sand in my shoulder hasn't troubled me. Can you tell me why?"

"No."

Which was true. Though presented with the opportunity, Threepio could not bring himself to tell him. Since the day he learned of the Changeling's existence, he had relished the prospect of revealing his true identity to him. But now that the moment had finally come, he could take no pleasure in it.

His ambiguous refusal did not satisfy the gold droid. He shrank against t the wall as he spoke.

"I am See-Threepio, human-cyborg relations. Who are you?"

The mechanicals' hail. The challenge that no unit can fail to answer truthfully. But, as the droid he had once been spoke, Threepio seemed to hear a voice, as if at a great distance:  
><em><br>Why, that's not a name; it's a function! Who are you when you can't do that anymore?  
><em>  
>At the time, it had been a flippant observation, but now, it took on staggering significance. How would he answer? Who was he? He wasn't the same droid he had been, so long ago, at the Kong base. He was hardly the same droid he had been before he gave up the Riddle. In that time – in all that time – he had come to realize that he had an identity: one plainer, more durable, than the duties he had performed, or the names he had been called. This identity – the one the Maker must know – would remain the same, regardless of function, identification, or even appearance. Perhaps He was the only one who could put a name to him, but he knew who he was. He considered the droid before him, awaiting – and dreading– his reply.<p>

What about him? Who was _he_? He didn't even have an identity he could call his own. This frustrated, well-meaning, irritating, beloved translator unit, who had no memory of being anyone else. This duplicate who had taken his place, who had held that place: a lost treasure who had been restored to those who were fond of him. He had served them, suffered with them, worried over them, encouraged them. He belonged to them, longer than _he_ had, and they belonged to him. See-Threepio; the function that had become a name: he had earned that identity, and all that went with it. No, he would not take that place from him now. After all, he no longer needed it

Aloud, he said kindly, "Call me Ferguson."

But the other droid turned away. His head sank, and he covered his face with his hands. "No. Oh no." he gasped, leaning against the wall.

The droid called Ferguson put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Don't be distressed. The Maker is a faithful Creator, and does have some plan for good in this. I don't' know what it is, but it was obviously important that you be there." He hesitated, then said softly, "Thank you for filling that place."

Threepio's hands still covered his face. "How can you say that?" he whispered brokenly. He felt Ferguson's hand tighten on his shoulder. Another gripped his arm.

"There's so much I'd like to tell you, but there isn't time. But remember this: the promises you long for are true, and they are made to all who will believe them. You'll be able to figure out the rest." The hands slipped from his casing. "But you must tell Captain Solo and – I believe you called him R-5 – that they must get off this ship as soon as possible. You may not have noticed, but the process for restarting the engines has already begun."

Threepio did not turn around, but he raised his head. "But you can't go down with the ship!"  
>"Get back, Goldenrod!" Captain Solo's voice exploded in the corridor. Both droids jumped at the sound. The man stalked closer, his blaster fixed on the drone.<p>

"What's going on? Who is this?"

"Don't you know?" Threepio answered bitterly.

The black droid said, "I was merely reminding him of his duty, and of mine. You have nothing to fear."

"What are you doing here? There isn't any central computing for a drone to function."

"I'm not a drone. I'm a droid." Even in the encapsulation suit, Captain Solo's distrust was obvious. "I was confiscated during a raid on a Rebel base, and have been here ever since. I guess that makes me a traitor, doesn't it?"

The man looked at his blaster. "You know what that means."

"I do; and I expect it."

The droid's answer turned Threepio's face from the wall. "Captain Solo, no! You can't do it…"

"Shut up, Goldenrod." Before the man could say more, the other droid continued.

"But before you fire, I'd like to ask a favor. In one of the officer's quarters is the body of a lady under a lace coverlet. Would you please evacuate her chamber? The control panel is there on the wall, to your left. She has been very kind to me, and has done the Rebellion several good turns. It would save her from the gruesome end to a peaceful death." The supposed drone looked back at the droid behind him, who watched with indignant indecision, then met the man's gaze. "Now fire quickly, and don't miss… this time."

Perhaps he had not intended the afterthought to be heard, but its effect on Solo was startling. His blaster froze in mid-aim, as he heard Threepio exclaim, "I will _not_ shut up! Will you shoot me twice!"

"Oh, God!" Slowly, the blaster lowered. The man stared – and understood.

The droid in black spoke quickly, 'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." He added quietly, "But I've always appreciated what you tried to do. This time, though, it must be done. It's only anticipating the inevitable."

Rarely was Captain Solo lost for a reaction, but through his confusion he could hear Threepio's shrill urging, "We can't leave him behind! There must be some way we can. ." His voice trailed off as he pointed down the corridor, over Han's shoulder.

"You stupid jerk." The epithet was mild, but spoken with profane contempt. The man whirled around. The luminous figure that glowered at him looked like an accusing ghost, but this glowing shade had substance. He recognized her as she moved closer.

"The only thing worth saving on this ship, and you want to blast him." She looked toward the disguised droid. "Is this the guy who doesn't know much about flowers?"

Rather than answer her question, he asked, "How much have you heard?"

"I came in on the part about getting the air out." She shrugged. "Too late now." To the black unit she remarked, "I think those seizures you mentioned must have been catatonic."

"Oh, no!" He groaned. She waved reassuringly, as if dissipating his dismay, then returned her attention the incredulous man.

"Why don't you get a real job, so your girlfriend won't have to kooch dance?" she said, with a disgusted glare.

He nearly dropped his blaster.

"And while you're at it, why don't you marry her, and give that poor baby a name?"

He did drop the blaster. He stared at the shining figure, shading his eyes again the glare.

"But…But you were dead!"

'No kidding!" She said sarcastically, "Thanks to your bioterrorist buddies, I'll be good and dead in a minute, like the rest of the crew." The man pressed himself against the wall as she approached. "You can tell those smart guys they also took out the best law enforcement trainers in this quadrant, a big chunk of its hope for liberty and civility – and a complete set of Aunt Dollie books! Not that I expect that to mean much to you." She still glared at him, but the expression quickly mellowed to regretful sympathy. "But I don't expect you had anything to do with it personally. I'm sorry to have been so ugly to you."

He scrambled to recover the blaster, though he knew he would not need it. The compromised droid stepped toward the woman, but she raised her hand. The air crackled as she did.

"Stay back, Ferguson: it's static." He stopped, but did not retreat. Han had backed toward Threepio, and studied her as she illuminated the passage, arms akimbo.

"So, here we are," she said solemnly. "If you're looking for intelligence, you're in the wrong place. This is a training ship. There's nothing here you don't already know. And if you have any sympathy to offer, it comes too late." She sighed, and repeated softly, "It's too late." Her voice, and her words, faded like an echo in the silent ship. But then, it gained strength as she looked toward the two intruders.

"You can't do much for us now, but it's not too late for you to do something for yourselves, if you'll listen to your translator. There is still one thing you can reclaim to keep this disaster from becoming a catastrophe."

"She wants us to take the droid with us," Threepio whispered to Captain Solo. "Isn't there some way we could manage it?"

"Yes!" The woman exclaimed, leaning forward and gesturing broadly toward the other droid. The sputtering hiss of charged air followed her movements. "Anything you want to know he can tell you. He belongs to you – he always has. You can't leave him here."

"I don't know what to do: there's no place for him in the shuttle," the man muttered to his companion. But, as he did, the other droid was speaking with calm decision to the woman.

"He's right: there's nothing else to be done: there _is_ no place for me."

"But you can make a new place!" she pleaded. "They need you: who you are and what you have! You take with you everything I've spent my life trying to protect!"

"Laurie: listen to me. Their shuttle is too small and the Plague is too dangerous. Your mission must be fulfilled some other way."

"But. Ferguson, there _is_ no other way! You _have_ to go! There's nobody else who _can_ do it. You're the – Oh, Ferguson! _NO_!"

It had surely been an accident. While the woman spoke, the cruiser jerked violently. The primary reactors roared to life. The shock send the group in the passage reeling. The droid in black had put out a hand to regain his balance. As he did, the woman fell against him. He tried to steady her, but her static charge overpowered him. She had shrieked as she tried to push him away, but it was too late. He could not let go. She held his arms as he crumpled to his knees. Over the sizzle of bursting circuits, they heard her sob.

"Oh, Ferguson! Not you! Not you!"

A fine smoke hung in the motionless air. As he slowly collapsed, he looked up suddenly, and murmured something. Then, gradually, he sank to the floor. The hissing sound faded away. The man and the droid stared at that odd pair; the doomed mechanical, and the frantic woman kneeling before him, a scene lit by her own electric glow. Her end was drawing near. She still sobbed, but the look on her face was one of hopeful expectancy. She gazed at the motionless figure before her.

"I tried to send him home, but he was taken instead. And I'm so wonderfully happy!' She looked up at the two who stood silent and awed before this brush with eternity. Her attention returned to the dead droid.

"And yet I'm so terribly sorry for you, for all the rightness, all the kindliness, all the lovely things you'll never know; for all that is now lost to you." She signed deeply.

Threepio looked nervously at Captain Solo. As he did, the gleam of the static charge caught his face plate. The woman looked up. Through the growing brightness, they could see her expression change from surprise, to amazement, to delight.

"And yet," she exclaimed in wonder, "I just realized that you haven't lost a thing! Because _you've_ been there all along!" She beamed at Threepio, and laughed with joy. "Thank the Maker, it all came true!"

"I?" The droid stammered, "What am I? I don't even know who I am."

"You mean you don't know who you _were_. Who you _are_ is someone wonderful! You're the Ruby Slippers! The Patient Guide of Bumptious Simpletons! David Gamut! Father Perrault! You're Philip Nolan! You're the Greenhorn who is always taken in – and welcomed! You're The One Fixed Point in a changing age! The Signpost~ The Lilac in the Wilderness! The Cracked Pillar that Did Not Fall! You're Onesimus! You're Cornelius! You're John Mark! The Velveteen Rabbit! The Nuremberg Stove! You're Prince Aldebaran! You're Poet's Gold and Artist's Gold! The Confounder of the Abilene Paradox! The Happy Prince! The Ugly Madonna!3…

A convulsion of coughing seized her. She writhed, gasping for breath, but continued. "Oh, and a million, million other things! You're everything I tried to save; and you're the Hope of Civilization!"

"I? But how can I…"

"Because you know what's worth remembering, and you know the Maker." She smiled at the still form at her knees, and pressed its hand to her heart. "And the Maker knows you."

"But – I'm only a droid –"

The brilliance of the charge was overwhelming, but from the midst of it came a burst of triumphant laughter "Precisely!" Her voice rang through the corridor."You're not a robot!" She laughed again.

Suddenly, thunder shattered the air. A lightning bolt seemed to pierce the chamber, as her disease took its final form. "The Life Support! The Life Support!" Threepio cried, gesturing wildly toward the opposite wall. In instant response, Han blasted its panel. A second roar shook the corridor, as the remaining atmosphere was torn from the ship. Then all was silent.

When Threepio's photosensors recovered from the blinding flash, the shadowy gloom had returned to the hallway. To one side of it lay a functionless drone, and the body of a spent, smiling woman – about Captain Solo's age – in a charred white gown.

* * *

><p>Notes:<p>

1_It's a Wonderful Life_ (Motion Picture), 1946.

2In Alfred Hitchcock's film _Stage Fright_ (1950 –  title/tt0042994/), uses a technique to manipulate the audience that I have never seen used before or since. The viewers are shown a flashback that explains how the heroine's boyfriend became inveigled in the murder that motivates the story. During the course of the film, though, they find inconsistencies in what they saw, as the existing evidence is presented. At the end, the audience discovers that the flashback had been, in fact, a lie. What they saw had been what the murderer wanted the heroine to believe in order to gain her compliance. This revelation comes as a shock to the viewers, simply because they have been so conditioned to accept whatever they seen in a film as true in the context of the story.

In the play _Hamlet_, the hero is confronted with a similar situation: a ghost, claiming to be that of his father, gives him directions that will affect his destiny. Unlike Luke, however, Hamlet does some investigation to insure that the information the ghost gave him was true. Obi-Wan Kenobi claimed that, if Vader struck him down, he would become more powerful than Vader could possibly imagine. As one outside wondered, what's so powerful about a blue ghost? The internal evidence supporting the information Luke – and the audience – is given is, at best, inconclusive.

3The Ruby Slippers – _The Wizard of Oz_ [Motion picture] Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer: 1939. If you would prefer Silver Silppers, see Baum, L. Frank. _The Wizard of Oz_ 1900]

The Patient Guide of Bumptious Simpletons – The guides "Ferguson" in Twain, Mark. _The Innocentss Abroad_. 1869.

David Gamut – Cooper, James Fenimore. _The Last of the Mohicans_ 1826.

Father Perrault – _Lost Horizon_ [Motion picture] Columbia, 1937.

Philip Nolan – Hale, Edward Everett. _The Man Without a Country_. 1863.

The Greenhorn who is always taken in – and welcomed – Chesterton, G. K. "The Pickwick Papers" in _Charles Dickens_ (1906)

One Fixed Point in a changing age – Doctor Watson, in _Sherlock Holems and the Foice of Terror_ (Universal: 1942)

The Signpost – See Chapter 5.

The Lilac in the Wilderness and The Cracked Pillar that Did Not Fall – See Chapter 11

Onesimus – The Apostle Paul's letter to Philemon.

Cornelius – Acts 10.

John Mark – Acts 15:38 and II Timothy 4:11

The Velveteen Rabbit – Williams, Margery. _The Velveteen Rabbit_. 1922

The Nuremberg Stove – Ouida. The Nürnberg Stove. 1895.

Prince Aldebaran – Johnston, Annie f. _The Jester's Sword._ 1908.

Poet's Gold and Artist's Gold - Blanding, Don. "Gold" _The Vagabond House_. 1928.

Conqueror of the Abilene Paradox: Harvey, Jerry B. _The Abilene Paradox and Other Meditations on Management_. 1986.

The Happy Prince – Wilde, Oscar. _The Happy Prince._ 1888.

The Ugly Madonna –Guareschi,Giovanni . _Don Camillo and His Flock_. 1952


	23. Chapter 23

XXIII – The Will of the Maker

The world passeth, and the lusts thereof, but he who does the will of The Maker abides forever.  
>1 John 2:17 (paraphrased)<p>

"So long, champ!"  
><em> Here Comes Mister Jordan<em>1

* * *

><p>Threepio and Captain Solo fidgeted in the conference room, avoiding each other's glances. Threepio sat, looking at his folded hands, while Captain Solo paced aimlessly around the table. There were so many questions; questions with answers only to be found on that lost ship. Questions that would never be answered.<p>

The cruiser was long gone. As the pair was loading the disappointed astromech unit, the tone of the reactors changed: it was the revving of the hyper drive! Instead of permitting the cruiser to lumber peacefully to cremation, they realized it was to be bounced to the interior of the star! Caption Solo broke free of the cruiser an instant before it vanished. Only the man's piloting skill saved the tiny shuttle from shredding in the gravitational backwash. What could have been the Empire's haste in dispatching it? No one would ever know. Whatever officer directing the disposal would soon have turned to more important matters, would soon have forgotten all about it.

But the pair in the conference room remembered, and wondered. The only sound was the tap of Han's boots on the polished stone floor. Finally Threepio spoke.

"You were the one who bought me back, weren't you?"

Han stopped pacing. He looked across the dark table at the gold droid, who now appeared unusually solitary, even helpless. This side of Threepio was a stranger to him: an unnerving stranger. The man searched for the way to answer the remorseful question, but knew there was only one right response.

Han mumbled, "Yeah."

Threepio nodded. "I think I always knew it." He paused, then added, "Can you forgive me for taking this long to thank you?"

Han felt himself blush. That hint of condescension the droid's voice usually carried when he spoke with him was gone, And the change almost frightened him. He replied, "Don't mention it."

"Of course," the droid went on, "It must be a bitter disappointment to you to find you've invested in a forgery." His manner had been careless, but the words were obviously painful. His head drooped as he said, "And when I tell them, they'll send me away. They'll have to." He seemed to shrink into the chair as he said "And I'd rather be destroyed outright."

Han knew the answer, but asked anyway, "Tell them what?"

"That I'm an imposter." The droid gazed down at the mismatched casing on his legs, and added softly, "But I don't remember being anyone else."

Before he fully realized where he was going, Han had stepped around the table. He stood next to the unhappy unit.

"Do you think you need to?" He asked with unaccustomed gentleness. Threepio looked up at him. "You heard what the lady said."

"She said a lot of things. . ."

Wirth a trace of impatience, Han continued. "She said it didn't matter who you _were_, but who you _are._" He leaned closer. "Do you remember what else she said?"

"She said I was someone wonderful," Threepio repeated bitterly.

"Do you think she might have been right?"

The droid's gaze returned to the clenched fists in his lap. "No! No, she couldn't have been! She never knew _me_! She only knew–" His voice dropped to a whisper "– who I was supposed to be." Han listened, as Threepio sorted his thoughts.

"That other droid…What did he bear that I should have borne? What did he suffer that I should have endured? I realize now he was giving me this identity. If it had been I, I'd have reclaimed it, and, slashed to ribbons any imposter's remaining self-respect! Yet _he_ was kind. When you wee about to blast him, he was patient. When you recognized – when he said – Well,_ I_ was still angry about what happened during that raid. Yet _he_ was forgiving." Threepio hid his faceplate in his hands. " He made me feel selfish and spiteful. And rightly: I _am_ selfish and spiteful." He looked mournfully at the floor. "What was in him that isn't in me?"

Han had leaned on the table in silence as he watched the droid's distress. Now, he bent over him and spoke in a low voice.

"Do you really want to know what he had that you haven't got?"

Threepio looked up at him, with that unchanging expression of bewildered trust. Han leaned close, and said, "Nothing!" The droid stared in surprise. "Anything he was, you are – or can be." He straightened, as Threepio considered his assertion. "So I don't think we need to tell anybody anything. You're Threepio, Goldenrod: you're the _only_ Threepio." But to himself, he added, "_Anyway, the only one left_."  
>He might have been surprised to find his thought resonate with those of the droid.<p>

Or maybe not.

"Besides," he remarked with a grin, "I've got a pretty big investment in you, pal."

"Pal?" The droid echoed. Then he understood the man's smile. "Thank you!" he said, with  
>humble gratitude.<p>

The two men grew silent, each lost in his own thoughts. At length, Han asked absently, "Did you know what she was talking about? I mean those names and things she was rattling off. Did _you_ recognize them?"

The droid answered slowly. "Some of them…most of them, I think." He thought for a moment. "Some are a mystery to me, but most were literary characters." He paused a long time before remarking, "Several names were, I believe, from the Holy Writ of the Cult of the Believers."

"The what?" But before Threepio could clarify the reference, the man had recognized it. "Sorry; I've never heard it called that before."

"I believe they simply refer to it as the Book." Then the droid sniffed, "And why they are referred to as a 'cult' escapes me. They are notoriously generous about sharing their doctrines."

"Yeah, I know."

With unconcealed surprise, Threepio asked, "Are you familiar with The Believers:"

"Uh-huh.: I've been to some of their rescue missions." Han's early life was a topic that was never discussed, and the droid appeared embarrassed at having raised it. But the recollection only drew a wry grin from the man. "Those Book names were about the only ones I did recognize."

The droid looked at him in amazement "Yeah," the man said dryly, "I've read – what did you call it/ – The Holy Writ of the Believers. When you're hiding out, you read just about anything2."

Threepio turned away in wonder, pondering all he was learning, about those he cared about, and about himself. The words swirled in his memory: "A lilac in the wilderness? A Cracked Pillar?: he repeated. " I'll be wondering a long time about what she meant by those images, or why she would apply all those characters to me. But I'll be wondering for the rest of my days how I could possibly have inspired such enthusiasm, and obvious affection —" his voice lowered in wondering awe "- in someone I never knew."

The droid rested his head on his hand. "And I'll wonder whether it is true."

Solo stopped pacing and frowned. "Whether what's true?"

"I don't know where to begin." The droid's voice was low and earnest. "My. . That droid told me things – reminded me of events in the past – and in my past – that I'd long ago dismissed as unreliable data. The possibility of verifying any of it was so remote. Yet, because _he_ repeated it… Oh…now I don't know what story to believe!".

By now, the man had pulled up a chair. He leaned forward, listening intently, then asked, "What _did_ he tell you?"

The droid shrugged, "Possibilities too unexpected to be true, yet too unbelievable to be false … Transplants, medical records…" He glanced at his dual-toned legs. "…Disgraceful carelessness. And I've no idea how to confirm, or confute, any of it. But…" His voice trailed off. Then he looked at Han.

"Captain Solo, do you know if Master Luke and Mistress Leia have ever verified their relationship?"

The man straightened in his chair. "Why?

Threepio spoke confidentially. "The droid reminded me of a lecture I missed, and a procession I witnessed, and – and apologies I owe to Chewbacca." But that brief digression restored his train of thought. "If Master Luke and Mistress Leia truly _are_ brother and sister, then Artoo's story is correct. But if they are not…and if that _droid _is correct…And what we thought was true are lies… " He shuddered visibly. "Then we are all the victims of some deception so enormous, and so insidious, that its outcome can only be universal chaos."

He couldn't say why, but Han felt an eerie thrill in his neck. "Aw, but that's impossible!" he said, louder than necessary. "What could put together that kind of conspiracy?"

"I don't know," was Threepio's answer. "But I've been troubled by the change in Master Luke since we evacuated Echo Base on Hoth – " Then his voice grew tense as he added, "and I've never been comfortable about dealings with a system named for a tomb."

Han leaned closer to the droid, and muttered, "Neither have I." Threepio looked up. The man's reassuring grin confused him, yet encouraged him.

He wondered aloud, "And could he have been right about a faithful creator? That could be the most remarkable truth of all."

But there was no time for further discussion. The door slid open, and Leia stepped briskly to the table. Or as briskly as her increasingly interesting condition would permit. Threepio struggled to his feet as she eased herself into a chair. She glared at Han, then the droid, then at Han again. The incendiary silence continued until Han asked mildly, "So, what did you find?"

"Nothing! Nothing but tactical broadcasts and training directives!" The woman spat. "Just what databank did you tell AreFive to download?" she inquired sarcastically of the droid, "And why didn't _you_ –" she pointed at Han "– wait until he could find some useful intelligence!" She scowled and shook her head. "What a waste!" The men exchanged glances. So it was going to be one of _those_ meetings.

"If I may, the lack of tactical intelligence may be due to the cruiser having been a mobile training academy, for law enforcement officers, rather than a warship…" Threepio spoke tentatively. The withering gaze Leia directed at him would normally intimidate him into silence, but, this time justice sustained him. "…And the imminent hyperjump into the sun precluded any loitering." In an attempt to diffuse the tension, he said, "Er…I – we – deeply regret your disappointment." Han suppressed a chuckle as the woman's face contorted.

Finally, she said, "A training ship wouldn't incinerate a political prison. Only a cruiser acting under orders would have attacked a military target! We need to know about that Imperial infighting! In the face of that, how could you possibly get the idea that was a training ship?"

"I overheard some customers discussing it at the bookshop. The – I believe it was called the _Vigilant_ – was in this system to attend that law enforcement training conference some months back. Then it was ordered to train the staff of the prison on Threnet. The management of its quarantine was often discussed with considerable heat. In fact, there is serious speculation that the growing public outrage might be sufficient to implode the whole bureaucracy…" But his intelligence was ignored.

"That doesn't explain why they blew up the prison." Leia was still angry, but her expression had lost its hostility. Clearly, the details of the cruiser's pacific purposes were news to her; but her pride was still tethered to her assumptions.

Han moved beside the woman, and rested his arm on the back of her chair.

"Do you know where that prison was built?" he asked. The princess glared enquiringly. "Do you remember that bioweapons lab you lost in the avalanche a while back? That prison was built on top of it. It looks like those cultures were still active enough to kill off the prison staff and the crew of that ship."

Threepio offered a supporting opinion. "Might it be possible that the ship torpedoed the correctional complex in order to prevent any further spread of the plague?"

"Intelligence doesn't support that theory," Leia muttered.

"Honey, just what intelligence do you mean? The Alliance's, or your own?"

The woman's eye's blazed "Why, you…!"

"I saw that report–" Han gestured toward her handful of papers " – And all we know for sure about it was that it was one of the cruisers orbiting Kennet at the time of the hotel riot, that it was sent to Threnet, that it vaporized an empty prison, and that everybody on it died." He watched her as she sat, arms crossed, lips tight, eyes fixed on the table. "Just what did you expect us to find there?"

She said nothing, but her stony expression was beginning to soften.

"I know you hate the Empire. You were crying in your sleep again after that Threnet blast. But that ship wasn't any threat to the Rebellion. You know," he remarked carefully, "It might have been one of those officers who helped you get away from that orgy." He paused, then asked softly, "Could it be you _wanted_ it to be a threat?"  
>Leia raised her head and glowered at him. "She made me feel small and cheap. I don't like to feel small and cheap" As she spoke, Han felt the oddest sensation: a tightening in his throat, almost as if he were being choked. Suddenly it stopped, Leia still scowled, but she was thinking.<p>

"I was angry. I was angry at you, too. And I was angry with that ship. Those lecherous beasts. Those bullying clods who arrested Luke…I think I wanted to prove that ship deserved to die."

"And me? And Threepio?"

Slowly, she turned toward him. Her face was now pale with dread.

"Oh, Han," she breathed. "What did I very nearly do!" She looked toward Threepio, who was studying the wall, pretending to ignore the conversation. She struggled for words.

"I don't ever want anything to happen to you, ever again. All that time you were …That was the worst time of my life. I'm so dreadfully sorry!" She covered her face and trembled with sobs. Han put his arm around her shoulders. Through her tears, she said, "I was wrong. They didn't do anything to deserve that fate And that woman. She acted in kindness, not spite. How could I be so ungrateful! How could I hate anyone – or anything – that much without reason!" She shook her head violently. "Oh, what's wrong with me! Now I don' know why I sent you." Han simply held her.

"Never mind, honey." The man looked over at Threepio. The droid returned his glance. "I think we _had_ to be there."

"What do you mean, 'had to be there?'" Leia's eyes sought an explanation, but Han's face remained unreadable. "Just what happened to you on that ship"

The man sighed. "I'm not sure I can explain it. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to explain it. I guess we both had some unfinished business there."

"Business? What kind of business?" Curiosity replaced her tears.

"Oh, patching up something I thought was shot to pieces." He looked again at Threepio. Leia noticed that the droid lowered his head. The attitude gave his blank faceplate the look of a gratified smile. She turned back to the thoughtful Han.

"What _did_ you see there?" Leia probed, mystified by the change in the two. Han's gaze was unfocused, as if he were looking beyond the walls of the conference room, recalling the cloudy past.

"I saw a light. Yet, when I got there, it was so faint I don't know how I could have spotted it. And a room where there should have been no room. And …treasures. They weren't valuable, but I don't know what else to call them. Treasures of the mind. And the heart. And one that had stopped. But wasn't finished yet…" His voice, which had grown dreamy, trailed off. Leia stared at him.

"Han, what are you talking about?"

"I don't know… I don' t know." Once more, his speech was matter-of-fact, yet regretful. "All I _do_ know is something more important than a nameless crew died with that ship." He held the woman in silence. There was nothing more to be said. Leia wondered…and remembered.

"I hope that lieutenant is all right."

Han flinched, then held her tighter. "Don't worry. I think she's safe at home."

"That's good." She nestled in Han's arm. But his thoughts still seemed to be elsewhere.

Presently, he asked, "Do you know anything about Aunt Dollie?"

Leia started, and even Threepio looked up at the pair.

"Aunt Dollie! Why do you ask?" The woman's alarm surprised him. Unobtrusively, Threepio moved closer.

"I saw some books – and I got scolded for letting a complete set go up in smoke." He grinned hesitantly. "I guess I want to know why I'm in trouble."

As he spoke, Leia's expression changed from interest, to dismay, to dejection. Han threw the droid a questioning look, but he could tell him nothing. His turned again to the woman.

Leia wept softly. "I'm sorry – it must be the babies – but I loved Aunt Dollie stories when I was a little girl. I haven't thought of them in years, but when you said a complete set went down with that cruiser… It's such a small thing, yet I felt as if I had lost my world all over again." Han rubbed her shoulder.

"Mistress Leia, If you really…" Threepio began gently.

"Everything I knew about goodness started with those stories," she continued

"But I…" he interrupted.

"I didn't know there were any to be had any place but Alderaan, and now," her voice broke, "I'll never hear them again." She buried her face in Han's arm.

"But you can!" Threepio said.

"Can what?" she sniffed crossly.

"Hear Aunt Dollie stories!" Leia frowned at the droid in confusion. He explained, "I know all those stories."

"You do!" She stared at him.

"Of course. I could probably even duplicate the illustrations. Or download them, at any rate."

Leia gulped, "But why would you know something like that?"

"They were among the most popular stories on Alderaan. As an interpreter," he spoke with airy modesty, "It's my business to be familiar with the artistic works that cultures consider…" Abruptly, he paused, and looked thoughtful "…Worth remembering," he repeated slowly. He glanced toward Captain Solo. The man's own expression assured him that he, too, had recognized that portentous phrase. The droid turned away, and Han heard him murmur, "'And I know the Maker. And the Maker knows me'…The Maker…"

Leia looked from the droid, to Han. "What got into him?" she asked, perplexed.

Han was still watching the droid with growing interest – and approval. "I think somebody showed him his destiny."

"Destiny!" the droid echoed. His head tilted to one side as he whispered, "'Your destiny lies along…"

"Threepio, what's the matter?" The woman's voice distracted him.

"Oh, Excuse me. I didn't realize I had said it aloud." Their wondering gaze led him to explain. "I was thinking of something I heard General Kenobi say to Master Luke. His last words were, 'Your destiny lies along a different path from mine.'" He paused, then wondered aloud, " I don't know why I didn't think of this before, but… how can there be a destiny without a plan? And how can there be a plan -." his voice trailed off in wonder "– Without a planner/"

Suddenly, he looked up. "Merciful Power!" he exclaimed faintly. "So many things. . arranged by chance?" Oblivious to the couple at the table, he began to mutter snippets of phrases, meaningless to them, but unaccountably important to him. "… Rewards those who seek…Work together. .for those who are called – Oh but I'm only a droid! – Who gives life to all things . . Who believes in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live…The just will live by faith…To them that believe on His name…not by blood…the right family…or by organism . .or by ritual…but the will of …" His head bowed with a sharp, dismissive nod. "Oh, but I'm . ." Then his head snapped to attention, "…Not a robot!" He finished in wondering astonishment. "He _was_ right! It _is_ true!" he whispered. "The promises _are_ true! And they _are_ for all who will believe them! Thank the Maker, It's all true!" He leaned against the table, staggered by his realization.

The couple looked on: Leia with suspicious concern; Han with pleased sympathy. Finally, Leia whispered to him, "Do you think he needs a memory flush?"

"No! A backup, maybe; but never a flush! We need him – all of him – more than we'll ever know." He smiled, but then an alarming conclusion occurred to him.

"Leia" She looked up. "Have you and Luke ever checked your relationship?"

"What?"

"Have you ever made sure you're really brother and sister?"

She stared at him with the same concerned suspicion she had directed at Threepio. "Of course not!"

'"How can you be so sure that you are, then?" Han asked. He was still watching the droid. Threepio had just turned to look at them, as if surprised to find them there.

"Well, we – we just know! What a question!" Leia tossed her head impatiently, and picked up the intelligence report. The man and the droid found themselves exchanging an uneasy glance.

But the woman did not notice. "Han…are you sure you're all right? That encapsulation suit was airtight, wasn't it?"

"I'm fine. And so's Threepio. Better than we've ever been, I think. But you're likely to see a lot of strange things. And I think you'll like them." He assisted the woman to her feet. "What do you say we skip mess and go out tonight? With Kennet in an uproar, nobody'd give us a second look. We can talk – about the future."

Leia mystified look soon gave way to a coy smile. "I don't know what got into you, but I think I _would_ like to keep it." Arm in arm, the couple walked toward the door. "Just give me a minute to change."

"Erm… Excuse me, Captain Solo…" They turned. Threepio still stood by the table, but looked oddly downcast.

"Yeah?"

Threepio fumbled, "Er…sir . I'm sorry to delay you, but. .er…do you know…" But Han understood perfectly.

"Chewie's in the hangar," he said with a smile. "So's Artoo."

"Thank you – and I hope you have a pleasant evening."

The droid's vague question, and Han's ready answer puzzled Leia. She glanced ad the man, then asked, "Threepio, why did you want to know where they were?"

"After what he . .after what I learned, er, discovered today, I was reminded that I have a lot of amends to make. I only hope I can." He straightened with resolve. "I owe it them … and to the Maker… and to _him_." Leia looked at him blankly, but Han knew he referred to his predecessor. The droid did not relish his mission, but it was one he was choosing willingly. He squared his shoulders, and followed them through the sliding door. As he turned toward the hangar, though, Han stopped him.

'Say, Goldenrod, before you go–" The droid paused; and Leia noticed that, for the first time, he did not appear indignant at the nickname, "–I was wondering. You were closest to that droid when he died. He said something that made that lady awfully happy. Did you hear what it was?"

The droid nodded slowly. "I heard, but I have no idea what it meant. All he said was 'Music!'"

The End

* * *

><p>Notes:<p>

1_Here Comes Mr. Jordan_ [Motion picture] (1944)

2Runyon, Damon. _The Idyll of Miss Sarah Brown_. [short story]1933


	24. Chapter 24

_References and Suggested Resources_

References and Suggested Resources

A list such as this can barely scratch the surface of that intellectual vein from which the precious mettle of a life is mined; but still, I must put in my ore. Many of these titles are available for free in full-text online, through Project Gutenburg; in free downloadable audio form through Librivox, or through a public library. Perhaps this list will inspire you to compile your own list of treasures.

Andersen, Christian Hans. **The complete illustrated works of Hans Christian Anderson**. London: Chancellor Press; 2001.

Ashley, Michael. **Souls in metal : an anthology of robot futures**. New York: St. Martin's Press; 1977.

Asimov, Isaac. **I, robot**; 1950.

Baum, L. Frank. **The Oz books. **Chicago: Reilly and Lee; 1900.

Bianco, Margery Williams. **The velveteen rabbit**. New York: Doran; 1926.

Binder, Eando. **Adam Link- robot**. New York: Paperback Library; 1965.

Blanding, Don. **Songs of the seven senses, including Farewell to vagabond's house**. New York: Mead & company; 1931.

Blanding, Don. **Vagabond's house**. New York: Dodd, Mead & Co.; 1928.

Bratton, J. S. **The Victorian popular ballad**. Totowa, N.J.: Rowman and Littlefield; 1975.

Briggs, Katharine Mary. **An encyclopedia of fairies : hobgoblins, brownies, bogies…**. New York: Pantheon Books; 1976.

Burroughs, Edgar Rice. **A princess of Mars**; 1912.

-. **Synthetic men of Mars**; 1939..

-. **Tarzan of the apes**; 1914.

Capra, Frank, director. **Lost horizon [motion picture]**; 1937.

Capra, Frank, director. **Meet John Doe [motion picture]**. Culver City, Calif.: Columbia; 1941.

Carnegie, Dale. **How to win friends and influence people:** 2011; c1936.

Castle, Nick**The last starfighter [motion picture]**, director: MCA; 1984.

Chesterton, Gilbert K. **Charles Dickens. **1906.  
>-. <strong>The Flying Inn. <strong>1914.

-. **Orthodoxy. **1908.

Coatsworth, Elizabeth Jane. **The cat who went to heaven**. 1930.

Cooper, James Fenimore. **The last of the Mohicans; or, A narrative of 1757**. New York: Houghton, Mifflin and Co.; 1896-.

Corwin, Norman. **More by Corwin : 16 radio dramas**. New York: H. Holt; 1944.

-. **Thirteen by Corwin, radio dramas**. [New York: H. Holt and company; 1942-.

Dassin, Jules, director. **The Canterville ghost [motion picture]**. Culver City, CA, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer; 1944.

Davis, Carl. **Ben Hur music composed and conducted by Carl Davis, Royal Liverpool**. London: Threefold Music; 1989.

Del Rey, Lester. **The runaway robot.** Philadelphia: Westminster Press; 1964..

Dickens, Charles. **A Christmas carol**; 1843 . ISBN: 0585099960 9780585099965.

-. **The haunted man and the ghost's bargain**; 1848.

Drummond, Henry and Hanna, Boyd. **The greatest thing in the world;** 1894.

Ellis, James. **The Bab ballads [of W.S. Gilbert]**. Cambridge, Mass., New York: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Grosset & Dunlap; 1907; c1970.

**An Expostulation against too many writers of science fiction**Lewis, C. S. **Poems**. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich; 1977.

Gabriel, Peter, composer .**Solsbury Hill**. Atco Records; p1976.

Grossmith, George and Weedon. **The diary of a nobody**; 1892.

Gruelle, Johnny. **Raggedy Andy stories : introducing the little rag brother of Raggedy Ann**; 1920.

Gruelle, Johnny. **Raggedy Ann stories**. Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill; 1918.

Haggard, H. Rider. **Montezuma's Daughter**. Leipzig: Tauchnitz; 1893.

-. **She : a history of adventure** c1887.

Hall, Alexander, director. **Here comes Mr. Jordan [motion picture]**; 1941.

Harvey, Jerry B. **The Abilene paradox and other meditations on management**. Lexington, Mass.; San Diego, Calif.: Lexington Books ; University Associates; 1988.  
>Henley, William Ernest. <strong>Lyra heroica; a book of verse for boys<strong>. New York: C. Scribner's Sons; 1891-.

Heyward, DuBose and Flack, Marjorie. **The country bunny and the little gold shoes : as told to Jenifer**. Boston: Houghton Mifflin ; 1939.

Hope, Anthony. **The prisoner of Zenda**; 1894.

-. **Rupert of Hentzau**. New York: Arrowsmith; 1898.

Hugo, Victor. **Notre Dame de paris. **1831 .

**The Idyll of Miss Sarah Brown** in: Runyon, Damon. **A treasury of Damon Runyon**. New York: Modern Library; 1958.

Irving, Washington. **The Sketchbook of Geoffrey Crayon, gent.** New York: Frank F. Lovell; 1883.

Jerome, Jerome K. **Three men in a boat; to say nothing of the dog!**; 1889.

Lang, Andrew. **The red, pink, yellow, orange, blue, violet and grey fairy books,** 1889-1910.

Lewis, C. S. **Mere Christianity**; 1952.

Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth. **The golden legend.** Boston: Ticknor, Reed, and Fields; 1851.

MacLeish, Archibald. **The fall of the city : a verse play for radio**. New York: Farrar & Rinehart; 1937.

Martin, Judith. **Miss Manners Rescues Civilization. **New York: Crown; 1996.

Minnelli, Vincente., director. **Cabin in the sky [motion picture]**. Burbank, CA: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer; 1941.

Negri, Paul. **English Victorian poetry : an anthology**. Mineola, N.Y.: Dover Publications; 1999.

Oboler, Arch. **Oboler omnibus; radio plays and personalities**. New York: Duell, Sloan & Pearce; 1945.

Proctor, Adelaide. **Legends and lyrics. **London: Bell; 1866.

Rostand, Edmond. **Cyrano de Bergerac**. 1897

Ruggles, Wesley, director. **Roar of the Dragon [motion picture]. **1932.

Saki [Munro, H. H]. **The complete works of Saki**. Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday; 1976.

Sandburg, Carl. **The people, yes**. New York: Harcourt, Brace and Co.; 1936.  
>Selznick, David O., director. <strong>Prisoner of Zenda [motion picture]<strong>. Burbank, CA,``: Selznick; 1937.

Shelley, Mary Wollstonecraft. **Frankenstein**; 1818.

Sidney, George, director. **Kiss me Kate [motion picture]**. Culver City, CA: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer; 1948.

Stedman, Jane W. **Gilbert before Sullivan**. Lond.: Routledge; 1969.

Stowe, Harriet Beecher. Uncle Tom's cabin, or, Life among the lowly ; 1852.

Sullivan, Arthur. **The golden legend [sound recording]**. London: Musical Heritage Society; 2003.

Sullivan, Arthur and Gilbert, W. S. **The complete plays of Gilbert and Sullivan.** New York: Modern Library; 1936.

Sullivan, Arthur; Henry Wadsworth, and Tours, Berthold. **The golden legend [cantata]**. London; New York: Novello ; H.W. Gray.; 1886.

Thompson, Ruth Plumly. **The royal book of Oz**. Chicago: Reilly and Lee; 1921

Turner, Michael R. and Turner, Michael R. **Victorian parlour poetry : an annotated anthology**. New York: Dover Publications ; 1992.

Wallace, Lew. **Ben-Hur a tale of the Christ**; 1880.

\allace, Randall. _**National Prayer Breakfast speech**_ [Web Page]. February 3, 2011. Available at: news/national-prayer-breakfast-video-now-available/.

Watson, Ernest Bradlee. and Pressey, William Benfield. **Contemporary drama; European, English and Irish, American plays**. New York; Chicago [etc.: C. Scribner's Sons; 1941.

Wellman, William A., director **Beau Geste [notion picture]**. Culver City, Calif.: Universal Studios; 1939.

West Point Cadet Glee Club. **Stand ye steady : songs of courage and inspiration [sound recording]**. McLean, Va.: Curtain Call Productions; 2005.

Wilson, Harry Leon. **Merton of the movies**. Garden City, N.Y.; Toronto: Doubleday, Page & Co.; 1922-.

-. **Ruggles of Red Gap**. Garden City, New York: Doubleday, Page & Company; 1915-.

Wren, Percival Christopher. **Beau Geste**. New York: .Grosset & Dunlap; 1926.

Wright, Harold Bell. **The shepherd of the hills**. New York: Grosset & Dunlap; 1907-.

Zinnemann, Fred, director. **The Seventh cross [motion picture]**. Culver City, Calif.: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer; 1944.

**The Parable of the Mother and the Cookie Jar**  
>Once there was a mother who had three young sons. She also had a particularly beautiful cookie jar. It was not only a pleasure to look at, but was always filled with delicious cookies. Her sons liked to look at the cookie jar, and were always eager for the cookies it contained. The mother was generous with them, but the cookies remained a special treat. But the mother knew that too many cookies, or cookies at the wrong time, would not be healthy for them. If the children could take cookies whenever they liked, she knew they would not eat the healthy food they needed, and the cookies would cease to be a treat for them. Also, the jar, though beautiful, was fragile. Rough handling, typical to young boys, would break it. So, to protect the jar and her children, the mother kept the cookie jar on a high shelf in the kitchen. On that shelf, the children could still enjoy the jar,, but it was out of their reach. Their mother, however, could still reach it easily. And when the time was right, she would take it off the shelf, and everyone could enjoy the cookies inside.<p>

One day, one of the sons wanted cookies. He knew his mother would not give him any, because it was not the time when her children were allowed to have them. So, he decided to get some himself. He told one of his brothers about his plans, then went to the cupboard. He climbed up on the shelves, and stretched for the jar. He could not get a grip on the jar, so he slid it toward the edge of the shelf where he could reach it. As he did, his other brother, who knew nothing about he cook raid, walked by. The boy on the cupboard slid the jar a little too close to the edge. It toppled off the shelf, hit the boy walking by, and shattered to pieces on the floor.

So: is the mother to blame fo the other boy being injured by the falling cookie jar? Of course not. She had put it securely on a high shelf, where it could not be accidentally knocked off. Did the son walking by do anything to deserve getting hit by the cookie jar? Of course not; he knew nothing about his brother's plot, and had no reason to expect the jar to fall. Sometimes, the wrongs people commit do not injure them, but innocent bystanders.  
>Was the first son wrong to want cookies No: they were not completely forbidden or excessively limited, only at that time of day, and when the mother gave them to the boys. Was the son who knew about the his brother's plans guiltless in this affair? No; he knew what his brother was doing was wrong, and did nothing to stop him, or warn someone in authority of his planned disobedience. Instead, he agreed with that rebellion with his silence. Will they suffer for their decisions? Yes: they will be punished, if not directly or immediately by their mother, with the loss of pleasure of the lovely cookie jar and the chance to enjoy the cookies inside. Will they be punished immediately upon the shattering of the cookie jar? No: the mother has to take care of the injured boy and the broken jar first. Will they be punished? Yes.

Can the mother put everything back the way it was? No: the jar is shattered, the cookies are spoiled, and the innocent son is hurt. Can she take away the innocent's son's injury? Ho. The cookie jar hit him as it fell. The best she can do is to comfort the wounded boy, and clean up the mess. A great mistake people make in the midst of trouble is to blame God for the trouble, when, in fact, He is not in the trouble, any more than he was in the storm Elijah experienced when he saw God (I Kings 19;12-13)Then, god was in the stillness. Likewise, God is in the comfort kind people offer to those who are in trouble.

Should the mother have known her sons might try to raid the cookie jar? She _did_ know: that's why the jar was kept on a high shelf. She had made obedience easy: the sons could have cookies at the appropriate time, and, in the meantime, they could enjoy looking at the beautiful jar. Th boys had the choice of honoring her and protecting themselves from overeating from [something] by obeying her. Did the mother have a plan if the sons did disobey? Yes; she was prepared to comfort the injured, clean up the broken jar, and punish the guilty, She could also find a new jar, and make more cookies, but it would not be the same as the original one. We misunderstand God's omniscience sometimes. He doesn't just know what _will_ be, but what _might_ be; and have a plan for handling the variables. In order for people to have the free will to obey Hm, He must have a plan for when people obey Him, and when they disobey as well. He will not undo the past, but will bring comfort and healing to those who suffer fo the disobedience of others.

* * * * * * * * *  
>Postscript<p>

This essence of this story started with a conversation that took place in November of 1981, when a team of youth workers visited my church. One of them and I got into a discussion of _Star Wars_. At one point, while trying to defend Threepio's conduct in _The Empire Strikes Back,_ the man remarked, not unkindly, that Threepio struck him as being something of a jerk. I realized I _couldn't_ defend his conduct, because the man's objections to it were legitimate. Finally, I said it was as if it was a different character from the one in _Star Wars_. Imagination took over. What if the Threepio of _Empire_ WAS a different character than the Threepio of _Star Wars_? What if something had happened to that original unit? Three years ago, the pieces all came together, and this story is the result. It is the story God gave me – for I certainly didn't come up with this train of literary events on my own. That it is what it is is His doing, though any misspellings, poor grammar, or .stray punctuation are my fault. Thank you for all your interest, and patience!

The author wishes to thank  
>Travis H. — Margaret M. — Simon W. — Daniel E. — Carol C.<br>Without whose help, encouragement, and inspiration, this story would not have been possible;

I commend the story to:  
>Ryan R. — Natalie F. —Veronica F. — Blake R. — Chris B., and Michael, Dylan, Lydia, Bailey, and Parker,<br>To whom the story may be important some day,

And I dedicate the story to Cousin Lorene, whose own stories remained untold.


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